The King of Space Must Die
Author: Barry J Hutchison
Date: 2018-05-11 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Humour; Adventure
Description: It isn't just war. It's space war! Geronimus Krone, the most dangerous man in existence has altered the course of time, appointed himself King of Space, and now rules the galaxy with the help of his four monstrous generals and their armies. Cal Carver and his crew are the galaxy's only hope. But, reeling from their recent loss, they can't stop Krone on their own. Fortunately, they've got a whole bunch of friends they can call on for help. With Krone's grip tightening around thousands of helpless star systems, a much larger Space Team must find a way to crush his armies, defeat his generals, an
Publisher: Zertex Books
Rights: Copyright 2018 Barry J. Hutchison. All rights reserved.

Space Team: The King of Space Must Die

Barry J. Hutchison

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Your Free Starter Library

Oh! I Almost forgot…

Also by Barry J. Hutchison

Copyright © 2018 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 Media Ltd.

www.barryjhutchison.com
www.zertexmedia.com

One

Mizette of the Greyx was dead. This much was certain.

She wasn’t sure how she knew this, exactly, but know it she did. She was dead. Unequivocally, unambiguously, unquestionably dead.

Ugh.

So lame.

Where was she? It was obviously somewhere, yet it felt like nowhere. The darkness was so absolute she couldn’t even see the end of her own nose. She held up her hands and extended her claws, but while she felt herself make the action she couldn’t see her fingers, and couldn’t hear the familiar faint shnick of the nails extending.

Raising her head, she sniffed the air. There was no scent, just the notable absence of anything even resembling one. She was nowhere, surrounded by nothing.

“Well, this sucks,” she muttered. She heard the words, but they were flat and muted, and seemed to come from a long way away. Was this some sort of fog? Was that it?

Mizette tried to remember what had happened. There had been… someone. Something, maybe? A bad guy. Powerful. Evil. Holding something pointy, she dimly recalled.

More than that. One of the team had been in danger. Cal? That would make sense, given his prior record of getting himself into trouble. But… no. No, she didn’t think it was him.

Mech? He was mostly made of metal, so the list of things that could hurt him was pretty short. Besides, he could always get pieced back together if he got too busted up.

Her ears twitched as a troubling thought crept like an intruder into her head. She pushed it away.

Splurt? Had she died saving Splurt?

Or the old Time Titan guy, maybe? He’d been pretty frail. She could easily imagine a scenario in which she’d selflessly hurl herself in front of him, giving her life for his.

Well, maybe she couldn’t easily imagine it, but she could probably manage if she tried hard enough.

Kevin? It would’ve been unlike Miz to give her life to save an artificial intelligence, but maybe…

She sighed. There was no point in deluding herself. She might as well face the truth. It had been none of those, she knew.

“I can’t believe I died saving Loren,” she grimaced, her snout crinkling in disgust. “I mean, like, that’s totally not a fair swap.”

The world around her rumbled, the very air itself trembling impatiently like the breath of some great unseen beast.

Miz tutted. “Alright, already, give me a minute,” she barked into the darkness. She felt it tighten around her, as if trying to smother her like a candle flame. She shoved back against it and shot the emptiness one of her most withering looks. Whatever she was going to be made to face next, she’d do it when she was good and fonking ready.

In fact, the more the darkness tried to pressure her into stepping into it, or embracing it, or searching for the tunnel of light, or whatever it wanted her to do, the more she was determined to resist, even if only to annoy it. She might be dead, but she was still Mizette of the Greyx, and no-one – not even an abstract shapeless darkness that might very well be the living personification of death itself – was going to push her around.

She sat down, and felt an immense sense of satisfaction when the empty void around her rippled with irritation.

“Yeah, how’d you like that, shizznod?” she asked. “I’m going to sit here for, like, ever, and there’s not a thing you can do to make me stand up.”

“Mizette?” said a voice from the darkness.

Miz stood up.

A shape grew in the velvet shadows ahead of her. His graying fur was revealed as the shadows fell away. His back was stooped and one of his eyes was milky white. His tail, which had been hanging limp and bedraggled behind him, twitched just once.

“It is you,” he said. “After all this time, it is you.”

Mizette swallowed.

Mizette blinked.

Mizette spoke, in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“Daddy?”

* * *

Cal Carver stood beside one corpse, and looked down at another. The one beside him was barely moving, but this nevertheless meant it was still remarkably animated for a dead guy. The corpse lying on the cryo-slab, on the other hand, was exactly as up-and-at-‘em as one might generally expect it to be – i.e. not at all.

“Yeah. She’s dead, alright,” confirmed the more upright of the two. He was Private Investigator, Dan Deadman. Or, more accurately, he was most of Private Investigator Dan Deadman. He was missing both his upper limbs from below the elbows, after they had recently been shot off by—ironically enough—an arms dealer.

Cal looked from Deadman to the lifeless body of Mizette of the Greyx. “That’s it? That’s your expert opinion?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be some great Space Detective?”

Deadman spoke with a voice that suggested he’d recently been gargling powdered glass. “One, I’m not a Space Detective, I’m just a detective. Two, I’m not a great one. Three…” He shrugged. “She’s dead. There’s not a lot more I can say.”

“No, I mean, I know she’s dead. The… uh, space hospital bed fixed her wounds, but she’s definitely still dead. We’ve run a whole range of different tests, including but not limited to poking her in the face, tickling her feet, and saying, ‘Hello?’ in a loud quizzical voice. That one was my idea,” Cal said, quite proudly. “Her deadness is not the issue here.”

He took a deep breath, then immediately regretted it when his lungs were suddenly filled by Deadman’s choking aroma. “Jesus, that is… That is pungent,” he coughed.

Cal forced the air back out through his nose and wrestled briefly with his overactive gag reflex. Once he had it under control, he continued.

“We know she’s dead,” he reiterated. “We want her undead. Or not dead. I don’t mean like Dracula, or whatever. I mean like the opposite of dead.”

Deadman raised an eyebrow. “Alive?”

“Yes! Damn it, I knew there was a word for it.” He nodded. “Alive would be great. Thanks.”

He stepped back and gestured to Miz’s body. Deadman stared blankly back at him.

“Do you need privacy?” Cal asked. “Or can I watch? How does this work?”

“How does what work?”

“Bringing her back.”

Deadman’s brow furrowed. He looked from Cal to Mizette and back again. “Bringing her back?”

Cal laughed, but there was a slightly hysterical edge to it that suggested it might turn into the opposite of a laugh at any moment. “Yes. Like you. I mean, ideally with better body odor, but… yeah.” He swallowed. “Bring her back. Please.”

Dan reached a hand out to place on Cal’s shoulder, before remembering he didn’t currently have any. He sort of gestured vaguely with the blackened stump of his arm, instead.

“Sorry, kid. I have no idea how I came back. And even if I did, do you really want this for her?” He gestured down at himself. “This ain’t no life. Trust me.”

“But it’s something,” said Cal, his voice fracturing at the edges. “She’d be back. She’d be here.”

“She’s gone, kid. She’s gone.”

Cal fell silent. This was rare. The only sound in the room was the faint humming of the cryo-slab, and the grinding of Cal’s teeth as he clenched his jaw tightly shut.

The silence was broken a moment later by an angry shout from elsewhere in the ship. This was followed by a shrieked, “Oh shoite!” and a thud of something small hitting something hard.

The door slid open, revealing the main corridor of the Currently Untitled. A tiny blue-skinned figure with an impressive green beard and a square-necked red dress lay spread-eagle on the floor. At the other end of the corridor, the ship’s pilot, Loren, about-turned and stormed back onto the bridge.

“Uh… hi there,” said Cal.

Dan Deadman’s smell appeared behind him, followed a moment later by Deadman himself. “What have you done this time, Artur?” he asked.

“Sure, I just paid the lady a compliment,” said Artur. He winced as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I was just being friendly, like, and all of a sudden she flies off the handle at me.” He raised his voice and shouted along the passageway. “That’s the last kind word ye’ll be gettin’ out of me!”

“You complimented her and she lost her temper?” asked Cal. “That doesn’t sound like Loren.” He thought for a moment. “I mean… I don’t know if we’ve ever actually complimented her before, but that’s not how I’d imagine she’d react.”

Deadman sighed. “What did you say to her?”

“I praised her on her fine blue complexion, which is not unlike me own,” said Artur. “And said I looked forward to getting to know her.”

“And that made her toss you along the corridor?” Cal asked.

“Pretty much,” Artur confirmed. He stood up and dusted himself down. “I mean, I also said she had a cracking pair o’ tits on her, but I can’t imagine she’d be anything but flattered by that.”

Cal opened his mouth to suggest he may have found the problem, but Dan shook his head. “It’s not worth it,” he said, then he turned his attention back to Artur. “Where’s Ollie?”

“She’s up front, just sort of staring at yer big metal fella. I think he might be starting to get a tiny bit annoyed, to be honest.”

Cal snorted. “Mech? No. That guy has the patience of a saint.”

“What is it?” demanded Mech’s voice from the bridge. “Why the hell do you keep looking at me like that? And quit giggling, you’re starting to creep me the fonk out.”

A female voice spoke, too quietly for any of them to clearly make out.

“For the last time, no, I ain’t no motherfonking robot!”

“Of a saint,” Cal reiterated.

Stepping over Artur, he headed for the flight deck, leaving the others to follow behind.

“Captain on the bridge,” he announced, channeling his inner William Shatner. Through the viewscreen, he could see a rolling ocean below them and the glowing blue aura of the engines holding aloft a series of floating cities above them. The Currently Untitled was cruising at a sedate and steady pace, and didn’t seem to be about to crash into anything, which suggested that the AI, Kevin, was currently doing the flying.

The cyborg, Mech, stood with his arms folded, and his back to a young woman who Deadman had introduced only as Ollie. Her face was a pinky purple with a paler pattern on her cheeks that reminded Cal of the markings on giraffes.

She appeared to be mostly furry from the neck down, with cartoonishly-large hands and feet. She’d explained it was part of a costume, but Cal hadn’t yet figured out if this was something she wore on a regular basis, or an outfit she kept for special occasions.

The costume also had quite pronounced male genitalia protruding from the front, and while Cal occasionally found his eye drawn to it, he’d resisted bringing it up. If a woman wanted to lounge around in a furry penis suit, then that was her prerogative, and who was he to judge?

Loren was sitting in the pilot’s chair, her body language suggesting she was far from happy. She glanced back over her shoulder when Cal and the others entered, and shot Artur a glare that dropped the temperature of the air between them by a good couple of degrees.

“Ye alright there, princess? Calmed down now, have ye?” Artur asked, apparently completely oblivious to Loren’s death glare. She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, but if Artur noticed, he wasn’t letting on.

“Hey now, you guys,” Cal said, reproachfully. “These are our guests. We shouldn’t be shouting at them or, you know, fast-bowling them along the corridor. We should be making them feel as welcome as we possibly… Jesus Christ, don’t sit in my chair!”

Deadman paused halfway between a standing and a sitting position. He glanced at the chair he had been about to lower himself into. It looked by far the most comfortable chair in the room.

“This is yours?”

“Yes, it’s mine. It’s right in the middle. Of course it’s mine. It’s got ‘captain’ written all over it.”

“I don’t see it,” said Artur.

“Not literally. Metaphorically, I meant,” Cal said. “It screams ‘captain!’”

Ollie shuffled back a step. “It does? When?”

“Again, metaphorically,” Cal said. “It doesn’t actually scream. That would be horrifying.”

Deadman straightened. “Fine. I won’t sit here.” He gestured with a stump toward another chair over on the right. “What about that one?”

“That’s Miz’s chair.”

Dan blinked. “The, uh, the dead girl?”

Cal turned to Loren and Mech. “Oh, yeah, bad news, guys. Miz is still dead.”

“We guessed,” Loren replied.

“So, I can take her chair?” Dan asked.

“What? No! You can’t take her chair.” He indicated a row of seats fastened to the back wall of the bridge. “Those are the… I don’t know what we call them. Guest chairs? Is that what we call them? Do they have a space name? Like, I don’t know…”

Mech sighed. “Space guest chairs?”

Cal wrinkled his nose. “Meh. I’m not feeling it. ‘Space guest chairs.’ It feels a little, you know, obvious.”

“Finally!” said Mech. “You know, I hoped one day you’d get this whole ‘space’ shizz naming convention out of your system, and it is high fonking time—”

“Space guest seating area,” said Cal. “Yes! Nailed it.”

Something inside Mech groaned. “I hate you, man. You know that, right?”

“But we should hyphen the ‘guest seating area’ part, otherwise it’s a seating area for space guests, rather than a guest seating area that happens to be in space,” Cal pointed out. He sounded quite grave about it, as if such a misunderstanding would somehow have serious repercussions.

“We ain’t in space,” Mech countered.

“No, but we spend, like, ninety percent of our time in space,” said Cal. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously going to argue the semantics of the space guest seating area, Mech? Because I will come at you, man. I will full-on come at you.”

Somewhere down at floor level, Artur raised his eyes to Dan. “Are they always like this?”

“Damned if I know,” Deadman replied, while Cal and Mech continued to debate the merits of prefixing the names of things with ‘space.’ Broadly speaking, Mech was against the idea, while Cal appeared to be very much in favor.

“I thought ye knew them?”

“Met them once. The loudmouth a couple of times. Can’t vouch for them any more than that.”

Ollie sidled up to Dan, the oversized feet of her furry suit flomping on the ship’s metal floor. “They have a robot,” she whispered. “Look.”

She nudged Deadman with a padded elbow and nodded surreptitiously in Mech’s direction. “It’s that one.”

“The big metal one?” said Deadman. “I’d never have guessed.”

Ollie puffed up proudly, like she’d done something special.

“And he’s not a robot,” Deadman grunted. “He’s a cyborg.”

Ollie frowned. “What’s a cyborg?”

“It’s a fancy word for robot,” said Artur.

A voice chimed in from somewhere up near the ceiling. “Time-wasting circumnavigation of the planet almost complete,” it announced. “Down Here will be visible up ahead in a moment, and the Tribunal should have finished clearing up the mess Mr Deadman caused, and gone by now.”

“What was that?” Ollie asked, peering up at the ceiling.

“That’s Kevin,” said Cal, looking back over his shoulder. He smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s an AI.”

“Aha! Right,” said Ollie, nodding. She waited until Cal had turned away again, before quizzing Dan out of the corner of her mouth. “What’s an AI?”

“Artificial intelligence,” Dan explained.

“What’s an artificial intelligence?”

“It’s a fancy word for robot,” Artur added.

Ollie gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “They have two robots?”

“No! We ain’t even got one fonking robot,” Mech snapped. “Cause I ain’t no damn robot.”

“Um, I fear we may have a problem,” Kevin intoned.

Cal glanced up. “Just teething troubles, that’s all. People getting to know each other’s quirks. It’ll be fine. Before you know it, we’ll all be holding hands and singing campfire songs.”

“No, sir, I wasn’t referring to the current levels of social awkwardness. It appears the city of Down Here is… well… it’s no longer down there.”

“Huh?”

Deadman joined Cal in front of the viewscreen. “What? What is it saying? Where is it?”

Cal pointed up. “I don’t know. It always kind of comes from the ceiling. We think there must be a speaker up there.”

“I meant where is Down Here?” said Dan. “The AI said it was gone. Gone where?”

“Sunk, presumably,” said Kevin.

“Sunk? How can it be sunk?” Dan demanded. “It’s fonking huge. There are billions of people living there.”

“Were billions of people living there, sir,” Kevin corrected. “I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but my sensors are unable to pick up any trace of Down Here anywhere on the surface of—”

“Is that it?” asked Loren, pointing to the far left of the screen. Right at the edge, a densely packed series of towers rose up from a vast island.

The Untitled’s engines altered pitch for a moment as its course corrected.

“Apologies, everyone. False alarm,” Kevin said. “We shall be arriving momentarily.”

Cal and Dan both stared at the ceiling for a moment, then shook their heads in unison. “I’d love to say he’s not usually like this,” Cal said. “But he’s usually like this.”

Clapping his hands together, he jumped into his chair, spun it all the way around, then took aim at Deadman with his trusty double finger guns. “So, you want to go back home and grab a change of clothes, right?”

“Right.”

“We can do that.” Cal’s eyes flicked down to the oozing black stumps that made up the detective’s elbows. “You, uh, planning on picking anything else up while you’re out? You know, like a spare toothbrush, or some personal effects, or maybe some forearms and hands?”

“I’ll check the morgue. See if they’ve got anything fresh.”

Cal whistled through his teeth. “Jesus, there’s a sentence I never wanted to be a part of.” He grimaced, then leaned back in his chair. “OK, no problem. You can take Mech.”

“What the fonk do you mean, he can ‘take Mech?’” the cyborg demanded. “You mean ‘Mech will accompany you.’”

Cal blinked. “Is there a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a fonking difference. Ain’t no one taking me anywhere, is my point. I’m going with them voluntarily. I ain’t being taken. Hell, I’m taking them, if anything.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks and turned to the Deadman crew. “Sorry about this. He’s not usually this grouchy.”

“He is,” said Loren.

“Right. No, you’re right, he is,” Cal agreed.

“Have ye tried turnin’ him off and back on again?” Artur asked. “Because I hear that works wonders.”

“So, are we landing?” asked Loren. “Because we’re about to overshoot the city.”

“Shizz. Yes. Land,” said Cal.

“Oh! You want me to do it?” Loren asked, brightening a little.

“What? God, no. Let Kevin do the landing part. You can…”

He found himself staring at her blankly for a while. “Sit there and supervise. Or, like, give moral support.”

Cal spun to face the others before Loren could reply. “So, here’s the plan. Deadman, Mech will kindly accompany you back to your place, via the morgue, so you can pick up whatever you need. Uh, you two…”

He looked from Ollie to Artur and back again. “…do what you like, I guess.”

“Sure, I’ll hang around here and get to know this fine figure of a woman better,” he said, winking in Loren’s direction.

“You’ll get to know the sole of my boot better,” Loren warned him.

“Keep talkin’, gorgeous. I like the rough stuff.”

Loren spun in her chair and moved to lunge for the little man, but Cal caught her. “Hey, easy there, champ. Teething troubles, that’s all. Before you know it, we’ll all be the best of friends.”

“More than friends, if ye play yer cards right,” Artur added.

Still holding Loren, Cal looked back over his shoulder at Deadman. “Might be best if you take the little guy,” he said. “And, uh, furry penis girl can stay here with Loren and do the tour.”

Dan shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“And what about you?” asked Mech. “What are you going to do?”

Cal released his grip on Loren, but kept his hands up, ready to catch her again if she made a dive for Artur. She looked tempted by the idea, but then slammed herself back in her chair and spun back to the front. On screen, the towers of Down Here were all around the ship as Kevin brought it in for a landing.

Cal looked up to the pipes and vents running overhead. “Splurt! You there, buddy?”

There was a series of clanks and thuds from the ceiling. An oddly shapeless blob tumbled down and hit the floor with a sound that was one part splat, two parts thud.

“What the fonk happened to Splurt?” asked Loren, looking back at the thing on the floor.

Part of the flailing shape was green and squidgy. The rest was a tangle of gloopy-looking tanned flesh, white hair, and colorful patterned fabric.

The breast of what Cal guessed was an elderly woman wobbled somewhere in among it all. It resembled a fried egg that had been left in the pan for too long, then walloped with the end of a rolling pin.

“I think there may be something the matter with yer green fella there,” Artur pointed out.

Cal dropped to his knees beside the twisted mess of flesh and slime. It was hard to be sure, but Splurt seemed to be stuck halfway between blob form and one of TV’s The Golden Girls. Dorothy, if past evidence was anything to go by.

“Splurt? Buddy? Are you OK?”

“I’d say he’s pretty fonking far from OK,” Mech grunted.

A shadow fell across Splurt as a short, stocky older woman with yellow skin appeared in the doorway, carrying a plate of snack-sized pieces of food.

“He’ll be fine,” she said.

Cal’s head snapped up. “Ronda, what’s happening?”

“He’s allergic to that one,” Ronda said, nodding in Ollie’s direction. “Well, not technically allergic, exactly, but affected by her.”

“She’s doing this?” asked Cal.

Ollie blushed. “Me? What? I’m not doing anything.” She turned to Dan. “Am I doing anything?”

“Not on purpose,” Dan assured her. “She’s not from this dimension. She’s from… somewhere else.”

“He’ll get used to it,” Ronda said. “But best to keep them apart until he does.”

Ollie took two big steps back, then fell into one of the space guest-seating-area chairs. As she did, Splurt’s squirming became less agitated, and he collapsed into a gloopy green pancake on the floor. His eyes gazed questioningly up at Cal, then he squidged himself back together into a ball shape.

“See?” said Ronda. “He’ll be fine.”

She smiled at the room in general and raised the plate a little higher. “Now, who’s for Spit Nibbles?”

Cal stood up. “No, I shouldn’t,” he said, before immediately grabbing a handful. “OK, I’ll take a few, but only because you went to all the trouble of… Oh, fonk, that’s good,” he groaned through a mouthful of the delicious little bamstons. “So much better than the replicator.”

“I should hope so.”

“Can we just get a fonking move on?” said Mech. “We know what we’re supposed to be doing. What about you?”

Cal scooped Splurt up and placed the little blob on his shoulder. He wrapped the other arm around Ronda’s shoulders and pulled her in closer. “Us?” he said, a grin lighting up his face. “We’re going to Five Guys!”

Two

Dan Deadman ducked back into cover around a corner before the men in the armored suits could spot him. Fonk. This complicated things.

“Polani set me up,” he grunted.

“Who’s Polani?” asked Mech.

“Just some shizznod. Technically, this apartment belongs to the Tribunal and he’s their boss. He let me use the place so he could use me to do his job for him. Now he’s setting me up.”

Another thought occurred to him.

“Shizz. That means the morgue is going to be out of bounds, too. They’ll be waiting. So much for my new arms.”

They were tucked out of sight down an alleyway, right around the corner from the safehouse Dan, Ollie and Artur had briefly been hiding out in. Dan had spotted six Tribunal Assault Squad officers outside, and made a few plain-clothes guys positioned at various points along the street, trying very hard to blend in. There were a couple of hundred other people surging along the sidewalks in both directions, rushing to get home or to work or… Actually, probably just one of those. The people of Down Here had an impressive work ethic, although this was largely because the Tribunal came down pretty hard on slackers.

And then, once it had done that, it executed them.

“Hold yer horses, I’ve an idea. Ye know what we should do?” asked Artur. He was tucked inside the breast pocket of Dan’s waistcoat, only his head and shoulder visible. “We should go round there and kick the living shoite out of them. Just totally kick the shoite right out of them.”

“I don’t have any arms,” Dan pointed out.

“Hence why I specified we kick the living shoite out of them,” Artur said. “No arms required.”

“Still. Kind of risky, don’t you think?” said Dan.

“Risky? In what way? You’re dead, and he’s a fecking robot.”

“Not a robot,” Mech auto-piloted.

“I think we can handle it, is what I’m saying.”

“We can, maybe,” said Mech. “But what about you?”

One of Artur’s eyes seemed to grow larger as he glowered up at the cyborg. “I can handle meself just fine, I’ll have ye know. Don’t ye worry yer giant shiny head about that, now.”

Dan shrugged. “Fonk it. Works for me. They’ll be expecting me, not a—”

“Robot,” said Artur.

“Cyborg,” Dan corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Ain’t the same thing,” Mech insisted. “Like, it ain’t even close.”

Deadman looked doubtful. “It’s pretty close.”

“I mean, yeah, OK, it’s close. But it ain’t the same thing,” Mech said. “Now, can we please shut the fonk up and go do whatever we’re going to do?”

Dan drew himself up to his full height and nodded. “Fine. Stick behind me, don’t make a move until I do, and don’t kill any of them unless you have to.”

“Or unless ye really want to,” Artur added.

“Or that, yes,” the detective agreed.

“Basically, kill them if ye like, they’re a shower o’ bastards.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “And watch my back. Got that?”

Mech’s neck whirred faintly as he nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

“OK, then here goes,” said Deadman.

He was about to take a step toward the mouth of the alley but froze as the barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of his head.

“Don’t move a muscle, shizznod.”

Deadman’s eyes crept up to meet Mech’s. “Which part of ‘watch my back’ didn’t I make clear?”

“I hadn’t started,” Mech explained. He swung a fist backwards. There was a whump that rattled the windows of a building across the street, a scream that started strongly but never amounted to much, then the distant crash of a body hitting a wall some distance away.

“Now I’ve started,” Mech said. He gestured to the alley mouth. “Shall we?”

* * *

“It’s here. I can’t believe it’s actually here!” said Cal, stroking the window of a large restaurant building. Getting to it had involved a lot of walking, most of which was spent fighting their way through crowds, although Ronda had managed to weave through the throngs without any apparent effort. Just one of the many benefits of being able to see the future, Cal supposed.

He’d first met Ronda after he and the team had chased down her son, Narp – one of the galaxy’s greatest computer hackers. At that initial meeting, Cal had thought she was just a kindly old woman who made awesome spit nibbles and probably babied her ungrateful shizznod of a grown-up kid a little too much.

Since then, he’d discovered she was some sort of ninja-like space nun with the ability to see the future. This had come as quite the surprise. She’d also given him a giant flying space robot a few weeks back, which had come in all sorts of useful at the time.

More importantly, though, as well as seeing the future, she could see the past. The real past, that is, not the altered fake past that had come about when the official Most Dangerous Man in the Universe, Geronimus Krone, had gone spinning back in time with his armies.

And even more importantly, she had the ability to show other people that real past, too. She’d used her mojo on Dan Deadman and made him remember his previous encounter with Cal and the others, and now Cal hoped she was going to use it on someone else, too.

After all, they were going to need all the help they could get.

“And it’s still a Five Guys!” Cal laughed. He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Smell that? They use special potatoes, you know? Well, they do in the real one, I mean. This one is all just Mush and replicators, I guess.”

Splurt bobbed happily on his shoulder, apparently quite excited to sample his first Five Guys meal. It wasn’t an actual Five Guys restaurant, of course – their franchising system didn’t reach as far as deep space. Although, had the Earth not been wiped out, Cal was sure it would only have been a matter of time.

He didn’t know all the technical details of how it worked, but from what he understood, the restaurant was fitted with some sort of mind-reading technology that plucked your favorite food place out of your brain, then reconfigured the store frontage and interior décor to match. Food replicators inside then prepared you whatever you asked for from the menu, and the whole experience was almost like being in the real place.

What Cal couldn’t figure out was how everyone saw something different. Even up close, the restaurant looked exactly like a Five Guys. It had the same logo, the same red signage, and elicited the same sharp intake of breath when Cal saw the prices on the menu as any other Five Guys back on Earth.

“You get unlimited free toppings,” he said, trying to justify those prices to himself, as much as to Ronda. “Like, I could have mushrooms, cheese, bacon, two types of onion and all the mustard I could eat. You know, if I wanted.” His stomach grumbled. “Which I totally do.”

To everyone else passing by, this wasn’t a Five Guys. It was a Scrunt Shack, or a Boont Buffet, or an All-You-Can-Eat Margarine Emporium. Cal knew this because he’d spent a highly unpleasant few hours working here a while back, before the place had mercifully been blown to pieces by hundreds of heavily armed Tribunal officers.

Still, it was back now. He just hoped his job hadn’t been kept open for him.

“What do you see?” he asked Ronda.

Ronda leaned back and looked the building over. “Smoking wreckage, mostly.”

Cal frowned. “Uh, OK. Is that the past, or the future?”

Ronda smiled at him, but there was no real humor behind it. “Both,” she said, then she pushed open the door and stepped into a scene of utter chaos and noise.

“It’s the lunchtime rush!” Cal explained, shouting to make himself heard over the din. A couple of hundred people were perched at tables on assorted stools, chairs and space chairs, noisily chomping and chewing through an assortment of mostly inedible-looking foodstuffs. The city of Down Here was populated almost entirely by off-world aliens, and if there was one thing Cal had learned during his short stint working here, it was that aliens ate some crazy shizz.

“Hey, there’s Alan!” said Cal, spotting a diminutive figure attempting to sweep the floor with a broom that was twice his height. “Alan! Alan, it’s me! It’s Cal!”

“He won’t remember you,” Ronda said. “We’ve been through this. To him, you were never here.”

Cal stopped waving and lowered his hand. “Right. Right, of course,” he said, then his eyes widened and he thrust his arm into the air again. “There’s Higgsy. Higgsy! Higgsy! Hey, buddy! Over here!”

An awkward-looking young guy with four eyes, two sets of glasses and a head that looked like it’d lost a fight with several hundred wasps, glanced up from where he was inserting dirty dishes into the fleshy orange folds of his body fat. He blinked sporadically, then hurriedly about-turned and rushed for the door Cal knew from painful experience led to the dishwashing area.

“He gets nervous around new people,” Cal explained. “You probably scared him.”

“Again, you are also new to him. He doesn’t remember you,” Ronda explained. She closed her eyes for a moment and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

“You OK?”

“Fine. Just some premonitions coming in,” she said, giving herself a shake.

“Am I in them?” Cal asked. “Was I doing something cool?”

“No. To both,” Ronda said. “Now, Nana Joan is off on an errand. She’ll be back in eleven minutes.”

She pointed to a table near the window, which was currently occupied by a group of what appeared to be alpacas in business attire. “By the time you get your food, those seats will be free. I’ll meet you there.”

“OK, then. Race you!” Cal grinned.

Ronda shook her head. “There’s no point,” she told him. She smirked. “I win.”

“Oh yeah?” said Cal. He cricked his neck, then jogged briefly on the spot. “We’ll just see about that.”

* * *

All six members of the Tribunal Assault Squad spotted Deadman approaching. This was no great surprise. He was pretty distinctive, even when both arms weren’t congealing stumps, and the crowds had all parted to give him as wide a berth as possible. The towering mechanoid thudding along the sidewalk behind him didn’t exactly help his attempts to appear inconspicuous, either.

Not that the detective was trying very hard to blend in. He called out to the armored figures as he drew closer, shouting to make himself heard over the constant hum of mag-lev traffic whizzing by.

“Is there a problem, officers?”

Half a dozen blaster rifles snapped up. “Halt! Hands in the air!”

Dan stopped. He held what was left of his arms out. “Uh, yeah. That’s going to be problematic. Also, I don’t think the cuffs are going to stay on, so let’s skip those.”

“We’re not here to arrest you,” growled one of the officers.

Dan grunted. “Figures. You’re not going to shoot me out here on the street though, are you? With all these people watching.”

“We’re the Tribunal. Since when were we running a popularity contest?”

Dan nodded. “Good point,” he said. He looked around them. The presence of the Tribunal mob had already thinned out a lot of the pedestrians on this side of the street. The sight and smell of Dan had cleared away most of the rest. As a result, the foot traffic on the other side of the street was congested to the point of standstill. The majority of the people there were watching the unfolding drama with Dan and the Tribunal squad, while trying very hard to pretend they weren’t.

“Shame we have to do this here,” Deadman said. “I can’t convince you to take it inside?”

A blaster rifle fired. It punched a hole through Dan’s chest, just to the right of where his heart used to be. The blast emerged through his back, ricocheted off Mech, and exploded against a roof overhang on the other side of the street, raining fragments of rubble into the suddenly screaming crowd below.

Dan sighed. “Guess not.”

“Ye bollocks! Ye almost feckin’ got me!” cried Artur from the detective’s breast pocket. He was just an inch or two from the scorched edges of the hole, the left half of his body pebble-dashed with spots of black blood. “Are we doing this or what, Deadman?”

Dan nodded. “We’re doing it.”

Artur clapped his hands together. “Right then, ye bastards. Have some of this.”

He jumped. It was, given his size, a remarkably impressive jump. One moment he was in Deadman’s pocket, the next he was springing through the air like some sort of jumping spider in a summery floral dress.

The arc of his flight dropped him straight down the neck of the shooter’s armor. There was a brief moment of confused silence, a slightly longer moment of frantic movement and high-pitched screaming, then Artur slipped out of the man’s left pant leg on a wave of blood and innards.

The other officers watched in stunned, horrified silence as their colleague fell forward and smashed his armored visor against the ground. He lay there, completely still, a puddle of red growing on the sidewalk below him. They were all so transfixed by this that they failed to notice Artur was gone until another officer began to squeal, then gargle, then eject bodily fluids through the ends of both sleeves.

A lot of things then happened at roughly the same time. Some of these involved wild, reckless blaster fire. Several involved an aggressive cyborg turning three-dimensional people into mostly two-dimensional people on the ground.

It was hard for those watching from across the street to pick out many of the specific details, but they were aware of a lot of explosive violence occurring over quite a short space of time, the majority of it inflicted upon the Tribunal officers.

Nobody objected.

When it was all over, Artur emerged through the fly of a dead grunt’s pants, carrying a single testicle over his shoulder. With his bushy beard and red outfit, he looked a little like Father Christmas carrying his sack. Or, in this instance, someone else’s.

“Memento, anyone?” he asked.

Mech blinked. “I’ll pass.”

“Ye sure? Ye could make something from it. A key ring, maybe. No?” He dropped the ball. “Fine. Suit yerself. Just tryin’ to be friendlylike.”

Dan glanced in both directions along the street. The crowds were too thick for him to see the plainclothes Tribunal guys now, but he knew they were there somewhere. They’d have called for back-up by now. There wasn’t much time.

“Let’s get a move on,” he instructed. “Before we have more company.”

“Lead the way,” said Mech. “Oh, but before you do…”

There was a rrrrip. Dan turned to find the cyborg holding two arms that had, until very recently, belonged to a Tribunal officer. Mech’s metal jaw curved into a smirk. “Hey. Would you look what I found?”

Three

“Hey, watch it, pal!”

“Alan! Sorry, didn’t see you there, buddy,” said Cal, struggling to keep his plastic tray balanced as he stumbled to a stop. Splurt wobbled on his shoulder, but held on by adhering himself to the side of Cal’s face until all the stumbling around was over.

A trail of what had been neatly swept food debris led from a spot on the floor beside Alan’s broom to a spot on the floor directly under Cal’s feet. “Shizz, was that me?”

“How do you know my name?” Alan demanded, glowering up at him. “And yes, it was you.”

“Alan, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Cal said. “And also, you’re wearing a name tag.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Alan covered the badge with one of his pudgy hands. Cal wasn’t really sure why, as the damage had clearly already been done.

“Anyway, all will be explained,” said Cal mysteriously as he backed away. “I have to run for now. I’m in the middle of a race, and I am totally going to…”

He turned toward the table Ronda had directed him to earlier. She waved at him, then gestured to an empty chair across from her.

“Ah, fonk.”

Alan raised himself onto his tiptoes and gave a snort. “That’s who you were racing? That old woman? And you lost? Wow, that’s pretty pathetic.”

Cal lifted a handful of fries from his tray. He dropped them onto the floor. “You missed a spot, Alan,” he said. Then, savoring the little man’s foul-mouthed muttering, he weaved between the other diners and took his seat opposite the space nun.

“Told you I’d win,” she said, sipping something hot from a disposable cup. “You didn’t believe me, even though I’d foreseen it. Why?”

Cal stuffed a couple of fries in his mouth, then gestured for Splurt to help himself. The little blob splatted down onto the table, before growing a number of small tentacles and grabbing for several fries.

“Hey, easy,” Cal told him. “You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

Splurt continued to pick up fries, albeit much more slowly.

“Better,” said Cal. He looked across to Ronda and shrugged. “Why did I race? Because who’s to say the future’s set in stone? You say you see the future, but maybe you just see a future, and maybe if I hadn’t tripped over that little shizznod, Alan, I’d have beaten you.”

“And…?”

Cal pulled the end off his straw wrapper, then blew it onto his tray. “And maybe you were lying. Maybe you knew I’d win, so you just said that stuff so that I wouldn’t race you.”

Ronda smirked. “Very good, Cal. Has anyone ever told you you’d make an excellent nun?”

Cal’s eyes narrowed as he flicked through his memory archives. “No,” he said. “No, I can’t say that’s ever come up.”

He pierced the lid of his cup with the straw, then sucked as he unwrapped his burger. Technically, it was more topping than actual burger, with the patty almost an afterthought under the mound of extras and what appeared to be a good pint and a half of mustard.

“You don’t pay for this stuff,” he explained. “It’s added value.”

Picking the burger up, he raised it to his mouth. Three and a half pounds of cheese, bacon, mushrooms, pickles, tomatoes, grilled peppers and five different types of ketchup, sauce and relish slid out and splattered onto the table.

“Son of a…” Cal muttered. He glanced across to Ronda. Her face, neck and sensible cardigan had been coated with a multi-colored pattern of condiments and a not inconsiderable amount of raw onion. He winced. “Uh, guess you didn’t see that coming.”

Ronda reached for a napkin. “No,” she sighed. “I guess I didn’t.”

* * *

Ollie stood in the kitchen, nodding politely as Loren pointed out the table. “That’s where we sometimes sit when we eat.”

“Good,” said Ollie, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Loren was clearly looking for some sort of response, and Ollie had said “OK” so often now she was starting to wonder if it was even a thing people said, or just something she had made up.

“But, you know, not often,” said Loren. She stared at the table with its two long benches, as if it had suddenly become strange and unfamiliar. “Actually, I don’t know if we’ve ever all sat there. Together, I mean. I’m usually up front. Mech, too, although he’s in the back fixing the engines a lot of the time.”

She slunk her weight onto one hip and loosely crossed her arms. “Cal and Splurt sit in here sometimes. Maybe Miz? I don’t know. Huh.”

Loren shook her head and turned away, like the kitchen had become too painful to be in somehow.

“Good,” said Ollie. She smiled too broadly and gave a double thumbs-up for good measure.

“Uh, yeah. OK,” said Loren. “Come on and I’ll show you the bathroom.”

“You may wish to put the tour on hold, ma’am,” Kevin intoned, as Loren led Ollie into the corridor. “We’re about to have company. And I don’t mean in a romantic or sexual sense.”

“I didn’t think you did,” said Loren, looking up. “Why would I think you meant ‘company’ in a romantic or sexual sense?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Perhaps you have a dirty mind.”

There was a clanging from the hatch at the back of the ship. “Open up. Tribunal inspection. This is an illegally docked vessel. Drop the hatch, or we will cut through your hull.”

“I’d like to see them try,” said Kevin. “I would require Novablast cutting equipment to penetrate the ship’s outer shell.”

“You have thirty seconds to comply, or we will employ Novablast cutting equipment to gain access,” the voice continued.

“Oh dear,” said Kevin. “That is unfortunate.”

“It’s fine. Drop the hatch, I’ll talk to them,” said Loren, heading for the back of the ship.

“I could do that, ma’am. That’s certainly an option. However, unlike masters Carver and Mech, you don’t possess any identification documents.”

“So?”

“So, I’m afraid that’s rather punishable by death here on Parloo.”

“Death?!”

“As is illegally landing a spacecraft,” Kevin continued. “In fact, most things are punishable by death here. Their capital punishment guidelines are all rather willy-nilly.”

“Fifteen seconds,” came the voice from outside.

Ollie shifted her weight anxiously on the balls of her feet. “What do we do?”

“Suggestions, Kevin?” Loren asked, then she shook her head. “Wait, what am I saying? Forget I asked.”

She turned to Ollie. “Do you have ID?”

“Yes! I’m Oledol Lodelo,” Ollie said. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “That’s not my actual real name, but that’s what Dan told me to say if anyone asked.”

“Good. OK. When we drop the hatch, you go and distract them, while I figure out what to do about the landing permission.”

Ollie blinked. “I don’t know. I mean… distract them? How should I distract them?”

Loren placed a hand on the back of Ollie’s padded suit. “You’ll think of something.”

* * *

Lance Corporal Roovik Yub of the Tribunal Import/Export & Cargo Regulatory Division pushed back his shoulders and straightened his spine as the landing ramp of the Currently Untitled lowered. His shoulders had already been ninety percent of the way back, his spine almost all the way straight, but he liked to make the extra effort to ensure a strong first impression.

He clicked the heels of his meticulously polished boots together and crossed his hands crisply at his lower back. Behind him, four… he didn’t like the term ‘plebs’ but he used it anyway… four plebs loomed with guns and cutting equipment, ready to lumber gamely into action should the situation require it.

Roovik hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. He was as petty and sadistic as anyone within the Tribunal, but his was a less obvious form of sadism involving spreadsheets and filings systems and thousand-page documents signed in triplicate. Why simply shoot someone when you could drive them insane with bureaucracy, then give them enough red tape with which to hang themselves? More than enough, red tape, in fact. So much red tape they could hang themselves from Up There, and still break their legs on the ground.

Speaking of legs…

Roovik stiffened further still as a pair of oversized furry feet plodded down the ramp, followed by an equally oversized furry everything else. It was only when he saw the wildly different head that Roovik realized he was looking at a young woman wearing some sort of outfit.

His mustache bristled in irritation. Illegal ship docking was no laughing matter, and such attire was wholly inappropriate. He’d been planning on filing a TH-7(a) on the occupants of the ship, but their ill-advised attempt at what Roovik presumed was joviality had just bought them two KX-11(c)s and a double-novated B-20. Let’s see if they still saw the funny side once he’d served them with those beauties.

“Are you the registered owner of this vessel?” he demanded.

The woman on the ramp stared at him, her eyes wide, her purple-pink skin perspiring. She bit her bottom lip.

“Do not make me ask you again,” snapped Roovik. He went ahead and asked again anyway. “Are you the registered owner of this vessel?”

Ollie swallowed. Distract them. That’s what Loren had said. She had also said that Ollie would think of something, but now that she was standing here there was nothing springing to mind.

“Yeeeeeerrrs,” she said, drawing the word out in a way that would’ve sounded vaguely Swedish to Earth ears.

“Then I assume you are aware that the requisite MM dash Nine dash E open bracket V-Four close bracket documentation has not been submitted during your descent into the city?”

Ollie blinked. “Noooooooorrrpe,” she said.

Roovik looked her up and down. His already rigid spine became even more so as he drew himself up to his full height. “Madam, I do not require your permission to come aboard. I will ask once, out of courtesy, then we will board your vessel regardless of your response. Is that understood?”

Ollie stared blankly at the officer. She glanced at the much larger, surlier looking men behind him. She wasn’t distracting them. This wasn’t working. She had to think of something and…

She gasped.

Wait.

Of course!

“Check this out,” she announced.

Thrusting out her hips, Ollie enthusiastically waggled the costume’s enormous furry penis in Roovik’s face. “Blimminy-blimminy-blim!”

Roovik watched her flapping it around, his face utterly devoid of expression. A TH-7(a), two KX-11(c)s, a double-novated B-20 and now a DX80(class action).

He allowed himself a tiny nod, content in the knowledge that everyone aboard this ship would be insane or dead by sundown.

* * *

After sending Ollie off to run her distraction, Loren entered one of the Currently Untitled’s spare sleeping cabins. She was immediately hit by the stale aroma of sweaty socks and cheap deodorant.

“Hey, didn’t anyone ever teach you how to knock?” demanded the room’s sole occupant. Narp was Ronda’s son, and something about him set Loren’s teeth on edge.

No, scratch that. Everything about him set Loren’s teeth on edge. He was a grown adult, but acted like a sulky teenager. And not in the annoying yet strangely endearing way Mizette had done. Narp was whiny, smelly, incredibly selfish, and something about the way his eyes bulged out of his face gave Loren the creeps.

“I could’ve been doing anything in here,” Narp complained. He was lying flat on the bed, a portable holoterminal hovering in the air at arms-reach above him. “You can’t just barge in on people.”

“Yeah, well it’s my ship,” said Loren, trying very hard not to breathe through her nose. “I need your help.”

“Ugh. What now?”

Loren’s face darkened. “What do you mean ‘now’? I haven’t asked you to do a single thing since you got here and…” She composed herself. “Forget it. We don’t have docking papers. For the ship, I mean.”

“Well, duh. What else could you mean?”

Loren dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand before continuing. “Anyway. We’ve got inspectors at the door. If they don’t get the paperwork, we’re in trouble. All of us. Including you.”

Narp tutted. “You know what’s involved in that? Figuring out the planet’s network protocols, finding an entry point, breaking their encryption… That’s step one. Then I have to work out what paperwork is needed, make convincing forgeries…”

“Then you’d better hurry the fonk up,” Loren told him.

“Did you even listen to what I just…? No? Fine. OK, fine.”

His fingers tapped and swiped through the colorful lights floating above him. At first, the movements were sharp and jerky, but then his body seemed to find a rhythm and his hands swooped and curved like the conductor of an orchestra’s.

“Done,” he announced.

Loren frowned. “What? Already? I thought you said it was difficult?”

“No. I said there was a lot to do,” Narp replied, speaking very slowly and deliberately as if talking to an idiot. “But I’ve done it. Now…” He made a shooing motion with one hand. “Please? Thank you. Thank you. B’bye now. B’bye.”

Loren bit her tongue so hard it hurt. “This had better work,” she warned, then she sidled out into the corridor and made her way to the back of the ship.

“You’re welcome!” Narp called after her, just before his door slid shut with a clang.

When Loren reached the ramp, she found Ollie jiggling her furry artificial penis at a group of uniformed men. None of them looked particularly impressed. Well, maybe the guy at the back.

“Uh, I’ll take it from here,” she said, putting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder.

“Huh? Oh! Good! I kept them busy!” Ollie said.

Loren shot the officers a sideways glance, but kept her smile in place. “Haha! Yes. You go back inside. I’ll talk to the nice men.”

Ollie waved a three-fingered furry hand at Roovik and the others. “Nice meeting you. Bye!”

“Don’t go far,” Roovik told her. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”

Loren waited until Ollie had clomped along the corridor before raising her eyebrows in an expression of complete innocence. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, madam, there is,” Roovik said. “I am Lance Corporal Roovik Yub of the Tribunal Import-slash-Export and Cargo Regulatory Division,” he said, pronouncing each and every uppercase letter. “It has come to my attention that this vessel failed to file the correct regulatory documentation upon its descent into Down Here. Furthermore—”

“Yes, we did,” said Loren, cutting him off.

Roovik twitched, annoyed by the interruption. “I’m afraid you did not, madam, hence my being here.”

“Are you sure you checked correctly?”

“Checked… correctly?” Roovik said, the tendons in his neck becoming prominent. “Of course I ‘checked correctly.’ I always check correctly.”

Loren crossed her arms and leaned against one of the hatch’s support struts. “Could you check again?”

“I don’t need to check again, madam. As I explained—”

“Surely that’s protocol, right?” Loren said. “You’re accusing me of what I understand is a pretty serious misdemeanor. Don’t I have a right to ask you to check again?”

“You have no rights, madam. None,” said Roovik. “This conversation is a courtesy, nothing more. In a moment, these men will storm your ship and arrest anyone found inside.”

“Uh, sir,” said one of the other men in the group. He carried a tablet-like device and from the look on his face, the screen was displaying something horrifying.

Roovik sighed. “What?”

The tablet was thrust in front of him. Roovik glanced down at it, just briefly, before raising his gaze to Loren again.

A split second later, his brain made sense of what he’d seen and his eyes crept back down to the screen. Loren watched all color drain from the man’s face. His shoulders sagged, then straightened so suddenly Loren was sure she heard something snap.

Roovik saluted sharply, then seemed to come to the conclusion that this was the wrong approach, and dropped to one knee, instead.

“My apologies. Please. It was an error. A stupid, stupid error,” Roovik babbled. He gestured for the others to kneel, which, after some clattering and shoving, they did.

Loren uncrossed her arms and looked around the dilapidated docking bay. There were a couple of other ships on other platforms, but neither of them looked in any shape to take off, let alone fly anywhere. A couple of maintenance droids clanked around, although they were as much in need of repair as the ships were.

When she looked back at Roovik, he was crying. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks before either being absorbed into his mustache, or dropping onto the rusted metal platform. He was whispering something. Loren took a step closer and was able to make out the words.

“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” she said. “No harm done.”

Roovik’s head snapped up, his eyes were ringed with red, but filled with hope. “What? I mean… Are you sure? I mean thank you. Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness. A thousand times thank—”

A blast of cannon-fire from the Untitled’s guns disintegrated the men, scorching the platform and painting Loren in a misty haze of blood.

“What the fonk?” she yelped.

“Got them,” Kevin announced.

Loren blinked the blood from her eyes. Crimson trails of the stuff ran from her fingertips and puddled around her feet. At the foot of the ramp, a charred lump of someone’s torso fell over, spilling chargrilled innards onto the floor.

“Kevin! What the fonk did you do that for?” Loren gasped.

“You were in danger, ma’am,” Kevin said. “Those gentlemen were here on behalf of the Tribunal. After much consideration, I decided they posed a threat to your safety. Especially the little one with the mustache.”

“He was kneeling down! What was he going to do?”

Kevin fell silent for a moment, while he considered this. “A rising uppercut?” he suggested.

“It was taken care of!” Loren hissed. “They thought we were… Well, I don’t know who they thought we were, exactly, but it was taken care of. Narp got us the papers we needed.”

“Did he?” asked Kevin. Being merely the voice of an artificial intelligence, it was impossible for him to shift uncomfortably in his seat. If this hadn’t been the case, he’d have shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I was not aware of that.”

Loren gestured to the puddle of gore on the platform ahead of her. “Kroysh. We’re going to have to do something about that before anyone sees it. Any suggestions?”

Another round of searing cannon-fire hit the puddle. Another monsoon of hot body fluids coated Loren from head to toe.

Where the men’s remains had been, there was now a hole, the metal edges glowing white hot. “That should do it,” Kevin announced.

Loren buried her face in her hands for a moment, then wiped away the worst of the blood. Or, more accurately, smeared it around a bit.

“Good job, Kevin,” she said with a sigh. “Good job.”

Four

Cal was going to savor the very last of his fries. He’d dipped it in the cheesy, bacony, mushroomy, oniony, five-types-of-saucy mush, and now studied it like a jeweler might study a rare precious gem. “They leave the skin on. That’s why they cost more,” he said, still gamely trying to justify the cost of what had ultimately been an averagely enjoyable meal. “Also, they use special potatoes. From Europe, I think. Or, I don’t know, Alaska. They’re not your average potato, is my point.”

Perched on a space chair beside him, Splurt’s eyes followed the fry as Cal brought it closer to his mouth.

“This is mine,” Cal said. “You’ve had, like…” He peered down at Splurt’s semi-transparent torso and counted the partially masticated potato sticks he saw there. “Twelve. Maybe thirteen. And you drank practically all of my Coke.”

Splurt rippled in protest.

“More like four-fifths,” Cal argued. “Anyway, this baby right here? This is all mine.”

He held Splurt’s gaze as he popped the last fry in his mouth. As deep-fried slivers of root vegetable went, it was perfectly fine. Not great, but not bad by any means. Completely acceptable in an empty, instantly forgettable, not really worth quite that much money sort of way.

Looking around, Cal noticed the restaurant was no longer a Five Guys, and now sported the livery of a Denny’s. Jesus, this place knew him better than he knew himself.

He watched Ronda dab lightly at the corners of her mouth with a napkin before starting to ask her the question. “So…”

“In about eleven seconds. Through that door,” Ronda said, indicating a Staff Only entrance at the back of the restaurant.

About eleven seconds later, the door opened. “Damn, you’re good,” Cal told her.

Ronda shrugged. “I’m usually better. The time damage is having an impact.”

The woman who stepped through the door was short and frail-looking, although Cal knew from experience that she was anything but. Her hair was puffy like cotton candy, and as blue as the summer sky. It sat atop a football-shaped head that was much wider than it was tall. She wore make-up. A lot of make-up. So much make-up, in fact, that her eyes seemed sunken, as if looking out at the world through holes in a mask.

“OK, I see her.”

“We need to get her attention, and then get her on her own,” Ronda said, not looking.

“Gotcha,” said Cal. He waited for Ronda to explain how, then realized she wasn’t going to. “Oh. Is that my part?”

“That’s your part,” Ronda confirmed.

“I’m on it,” Cal said. He raised a hand and clicked his fingers. “Uh, waitress? You there. Old lady!” He whistled. “Hey! Hello? Elderly woman! Nana Joan! Over here!” He clicked his fingers. “You. Yeah, you. I’m talking to… Ah, fonk it.”

He dropped his arm. “It’s no use. The old cow is totally blanking me.”

“She’ll leave again in three minutes,” Ronda told him. “If we have to wait until she returns, we’re too late to get back to the ship.”

Cal frowned. “Too late? What do you mean, too late? Too late for what?”

“Too late to save them all.”

For a moment, Cal just stared at her.

“Save them all from what?”

“Hopefully nothing,” said Ronda. “If you get a move on.”

Cal looked over to where Nana Joan was standing. She was still outside the Staff Only door that led through to the washing-up area, and then out to the yard at the back. Her hands were lightly clasped in front of her, her eyes twinkling kindly as she smiled at the groups, families and young couples all enjoying their meals.

“Get her attention and get her on her own,” said Cal. The legs of his chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it away from the table and stood up. “No problem.”

Cal held his arms straight out at his sides and spiraled them back and forth, stretching his muscles. Kicking a leg back, he caught his foot and pulled it closer to his body, making his tendons creak and groan.

He rolled his head, limbering up his neck. He crossed his arms in front of his chest a few times, exhaling sharply on each pass.

“Splurt, stay here,” he said.

And then, with all that out of the way, he lowered his head and ran.

It was not an elegant run by any stretch of the imagination, what with all the tables, chairs and restaurant patrons getting in his way. Not to mention the angry broom-wielding space dwarf, although Cal actually took a detour specifically so he could kick through the poor guy’s collected sweepings.

“Fonk you!” Alan hissed as Cal thundered past, rolling up his sleeves as he ran.

Nana Joan noticed his approach quite soon after it started. She watched him, impassively, as his dramatic charge became a series of awkward exchanges.

“Sorry. Coming through. Could you just move your…? Thanks.”

At last, he emerged into a clearing, and was able to pick up speed again. He accelerated toward her, a growing number of customers watching as he powered for the old woman, fingers bunching into fists.

WHANG.

She swung out an arm and a plastic tray scythed through the air and struck him across the forehead. The impact sent him crashing onto his back, his momentum sliding him the final few feet to where the old woman stood.

“Ow! Fonk!” he grimaced, his hands clamped over the tray’s impact zone. He opened one eye and saw Nana Joan smiling down at him.

“Hello, dearie,” she said, then her face twisted into a snarl and she raised a sensible-shoed foot up to the level of her chest.

“I just want to talk! I had to get your attention!” Cal squealed. She didn’t listen, and he rolled clear just as she stamped down.

His plan had been to shoulder-barge her through into the washing-up area. Or, ideally, right out into the backyard, where he could keep her busy until Ronda came out and did her thing.

To the uninitiated, and many of those watching on in the restaurant, this may have seemed like a harsh course of action to follow, but Cal had crossed swords with Nana Joan once before, and it had been painful on a number of levels. Most of them physical.

As far as he knew, his fast-healing ability had returned, but he had no idea how long it would last this time. If he was going to take Nana Joan down, he had to hit her fast and hit her hard. And, to be on the safe side, hit her dirty.

“OK, OK, time out. This was a mistake,” he wheezed, before grabbing her by a sturdy ankle and yanking her leg. Her shoulders hit the floor just as Cal jumped to his feet, still holding the old woman’s ankle. “Listen, I need your help,” he told her. “You have to listen, please.”

Her other foot kicked out and slammed into Cal’s shin, just below his knee. He hissed with pain and drew the leg back. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t ask nicely.”

He roared as he swung her up and over his head. She was small, and even lighter than she looked, and she whummed faintly as she arced through the air.

A family of diners leaped clear as Nana Joan thudded against their table, exploding drinks, cutlery, and some sort of blue spaghetti type stuff all over the floor. Cal blurted a quick, “Sorry,” to the family, then stumbled back, blinded, as a handful of hot cyan pasta splattered across his face. He coughed and choked as it began wriggling up his nose and squirming into his mouth, and was forced to release his grip on Nana Joan’s foot so he could claw the apparently sentient spaghetti away.

“Who the fonk eats this stuff?” he yelped, before a powerful kick to the stomach sent him crashing through the door into the washing-up area and into a stack of filthy crockery, which immediately collapsed on top of him.

He sat up in time to see Nana Joan snatching a heavy looking cooking pot from one of the sinks. Cal had no idea why she even had a cooking pot, since all the food was produced by the replicators, but was aware that now probably wasn’t the best time to ask.

Grabbing up a few plates, he began to hurl them at her, Frisbee-style. She dodged a few as she crossed the gap between them, and obliterated several more with swings of the pot.

“Look, I just want to talk!” Cal protested as she closed the final few feet.

He tried, with limited success, to roll with the blow as the pot clunked him on the side of the head. Scrambling onto his knees, he attempted to crawl clear, but the pot smacked him crisply across the buttocks, sending him sprawling into a shelving rack that teetered unsteadily.

“Ow! Jesus!” he grimaced. His arms shook as he pushed himself back up onto his knees, then he grunted as an old TV fell from the top shelf and hit him on the back of the head.

Cal lay there for a moment, not moving. He was conscious, he thought. That was literally the only positive he could take from the situation, and even that was equal-parts a negative, thanks to the range of excruciating pains he was currently in the process of experiencing.

He heard the crunch of a sensible shoe on broken crockery, and hurriedly rolled onto his back with his hands raised in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “OK, wait, wait. You win,” he said.

Nana raised the pot above her head, ready to deliver a killing blow.

“Wait, Nana, don’t! I used to work here!” Cal protested.

“No, you didn’t.” Nana smiled. “I never forget a face, dearie.”

“It’s true, I did! But there was a time thing. Cards on the table, partly my fault. Geronimus Krone took over the galaxy, and now this is, like, an alternate timeline where things are different.”

Nana didn’t look convinced, or even particularly interested in anything Cal was saying. The pot hadn’t come clanging down on his skull, though, so that was something.

“I used to work here with Higgsy, Alan and Jork,” Cal said. “I cleaned dishes. So many dishes.” He pointed toward the back door, where he knew there was a storage cabinet. “You have guns back there. We used them to fight off the Tribunal, then the four of you took a ship and went into space. You helped me attack a Zertex base. Then, I don’t know, presumably had a series of thrilling adventures or something. I’m not sure on that part.”

He flicked his eyes up to the pot for a moment. It still hadn’t moved.

“I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. You have to believe me.”

Nana rolled her tongue around inside her mouth for a few moments, as if literally chewing over everything Cal had said.

Finally, she shrugged. “I don’t know a Jork,” she said, but before she could swing the pot down, a pair of pale yellow hands clamped across the sides of her head from behind, and her eyes were opened wide.

* * *

Graxan of the Greyx stood on a rocky outcrop atop a high cliff, and gestured at the desolate wasteland ahead.

“Behold,” he said.

Miz put her weight on her front foot and leaned over the edge a little. The darkness had gradually cleared as her father had led her up the winding path leading up to this spot. Now that she was here, she wasn’t convinced it had been worth the trek.

“I just see, like, rocks,” she said. “What am I supposed to be beholding.”

“Do you know where this is?” Graxan asked her.

Miz wasn’t sure. It looked a little like Kifo, the death moon where members of the Greyx royal family were laid to rest, but that place was constantly wrapped in a shroud of cloud. The sky here looked ragged and incomplete, like whoever had been creating it had gotten distracted and wandered off to do something else before finishing it.

Graxan noticed her hesitation and gave a disappointed sigh. “You never did pay attention during your studies,” he said, and Miz felt a pang of regret that she was still able to disappoint him even after he’d…

Wait.

“It’s the Domain of the Unshuk,” she said, adding an, “or whatever,” out of habit. “I mean, you’re dead, right? So that has to be it.”

“Not just me, daughter,” said Graxan. He laid a hand on Miz’s shoulder and squeezed it. When she was younger, Miz had believed her dad could crush rocks in the palm of his hand. Now, she barely felt the touch of his frail fingers through her fur. He smiled at her. Miz couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. “Your time has also come.”

“Yeah. I know,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “I totally blame Loren. I mean, what was she even doing? The guy had an arm made of, like, knives or whatever. She’s such an idiot. Why did I even save her?”

Graxan’s grip tightened on Miz’s shoulder. “Because she was your friend. Because you care more than you dare show.” His brow furrowed. “My fault, I fear. I taught you to hide your affection. It was the one lesson you appear to have actually listened to.”

He turned away and indicated the wasteland below them again. “But yes. You are correct. This is the Domain of the Unshuk. It lurks out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting. In order to leave this place, you must defeat it.”

Miz nodded slowly. She knew the story. Every Greyx did. Facing the Unshuk was the fate that awaited them all upon their death. There were various depictions of it throughout the wolf-people’s literature and history.

In some versions, the Unshuk was an enormous, savage Greyx with anything from one to nine heads. In others, it was a shapeless abomination with a variety of appendages, a vicious cruel streak and a vivid imagination.

A few depicted the Unshuk as having no physical form at all. They described it as an abstract concept—longing, or regret, or sadness. Something internal that must be overcome before a Greyx could reach the place beyond the Unshuk, where they might curl up on the floor before a crackling open fire and finally rest.

“What about you?” Miz asked. She drew in a slow breath, dreading the question she was about to ask, but knowing she had to ask it. “Did you do it? Did you defeat the Unshuk?”

Graxan of the Greyx didn’t move. For a while, the only sound was the faint whistling of a breeze that had gradually risen around them as they’d climbed up the ridge.

“No,” he finally answered. “I did not. I was not ready.”

He turned and looked back over his shoulder at her. “But I promise you this, Mizette. You will be.”

Five

Mech and Dan Deadman stood at the edge of the gaping hole in the landing bay floor, peering into the darkness. Deadman was still sans arms, but he now wore a battered old overcoat and equally crumpled hat, which seemed to have lifted his spirits a little. Artur was standing in the overcoat’s breast pocket, and joined the others in gazing down at the buckled metal that surrounded the gaping chasm.

“Aw, man. What the fonk is this now?” Mech wondered. He was carrying a stack of boxes they’d taken from Dan’s apartment. Anyone else would have struggled to lift them all at once, but Mech had tucked them effortlessly under one arm.

“Someone died here,” Deadman said.

Mech glanced over at him. “How do you know? You got, like, a death sense or something?”

Dan met his gaze. “No,” he said. “There’s a head under the ship.”

Sure enough, a head—or most of one, at least—gazed blankly out from somewhere near one of the Currently Untitled’s rear landing legs.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

“Is it anyone we know?” asked Artur, squinting into the shadows under the ship.

“Tribunal, I think,” Dan said.

“Ah, feck ‘em, then. Sure, they were probably asking for it.”

Mech managed to hold onto the boxes while he tapped one of the controls on his forearm. The Untitled’s landing ramp lowered. It didn’t quite overhang the edge of the hole, but it came close, and Mech carefully clambered on from the side to avoid losing his balance and falling in.

Dan followed behind him, and Artur’s voice echoed as he hollered into the ship. “Hi honeys, I’m home!” he announced. “Ye miss me?”

“Fonk off,” replied Loren from up front.

Artur grinned. “I think she missed me,” he said.

“Welcome back, Master Mech,” intoned Kevin. “I’m so glad you’re here. We had an… incident.”

“Was it the kind of incident that involved blasting a hole in the floor and killing someone?” Mech asked. “Because if so, I noticed.”

“No, sir,” Kevin said. “It was the kind of incident that involved blasting a hole in the floor and killing a number of someones. Really, we had no other choice, and if anyone—let’s say Ms. Loren, for example—tries to tell you otherwise, then she’s a filthy liar, and should be shunned and ignored.”

“Riiiight,” said Mech. He dropped Deadman’s boxes in the corridor outside the room the detective and his crew were sharing. A detached arm flopped out and landed on the floor.

“Also, sir, on a completely unrelated note, several Tribunal squads are currently closing on our location.”

“What? Fonk.”

“And a tank, sir.”

“A fecking tank?” said Artur.

“Indeed. Quite a big one.”

“What about Cal? He back yet?” Mech asked.

“Not yet, sir, no.”

“Shizz!”

Mech stomped onto the bridge, where Loren was showing Ollie a map of the local star system. Ollie had babbled out lots of questions when Loren had first pulled the star map up, but now her mind was so boggled by the sheer scale of it all that she was just staring in silence, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes covering hundreds of light-years in a single glance.

“What are you doing?” Mech demanded. “Shouldn’t you be getting our shizz together for the Tribunal’s arrival?”

Loren turned, frowning. “What? Why? What about the Tribunal?”

Kevin cleared his non-existent throat. “Ah, yes. I hadn’t actually informed her, sir.”

“You hadn’t? Why the fonk not?”

“Informed me of what?”

“I rather feared she’d hit me with an, ‘I told you so,’ sir.”

“Told you what?” Loren demanded. She gasped. “Wait! There are reinforcements coming, aren’t there? Those Tribunal guys you blew up, there are reinforcements coming.”

“Here it comes,” Kevin said.

“I knew this would happen. I had it all in hand! There was no need to shoot them! I told you!”

“We’ll probably just have to agree to disagree on that one, ma’am,” Kevin told her. “Either way, I suggest we put it behind us and look to the future. A future which, unless I’m very much mistaken, will shortly involve quite a substantial amount of gunfire and a big rocket being launched in our general direction.”

Mech wheeled around to Deadman. “You’re from here. You know about the Tribunal, right?”

“A thing or two,” Dan admitted.

“Any suggestions on what we should do?”

Dan shrugged. “Not letting them shoot us would be a start.”

“How long until they get here?” Mech asked.

“Depends how far away they are,” said Dan.

“And how fast they’re going, I’d imagine,” added Artur.

“What? No. Wasn’t asking you. Kevin?”

“Theoretically, around three minutes, sir,” said Kevin. “However, if they wait for the tank and the other units to arrive, then more like six.”

“OK,” said Loren. “So, priority one, we have to find—”

“I wasn’t finished yet, ma’am.”

Loren stopped. “Oh. Uh, OK. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Minutes,” concluded Kevin. “Ish.”

There was silence for a few moments.

“Wait, that was it?” said Loren. She tutted and shook her head. “Priority one, we have to find Cal and Ronda. We have three to six minutes—”

“They’ll wait for the tank,” Dan said.

“OK, good. We have six minutes.”

“Ish,” said Kevin. “There are quite a number of variables. I shan’t bore you with the details.”

“OK, we have six minutes-ish to find Cal,” said Loren. Jumping into her seat, her fingers flew across her control screens, tapping and swiping. “Running a sensor trace. Mech, do you have a lock on him?”

“I got nothing,” said Mech.

“Kevin, give me the camera feed from Nana Joan’s,” Loren barked.

“That will take some time, ma’am.”

“How much time?”

The star map vanished and was replaced by sixteen windows, all showing the interior of Nana Joan’s restaurant from a different angle.

“That much.”

Everyone on the bridge – Loren, Mech, Dan, Ollie and Artur – stared at the screens, trying to find Cal in amongst the crowds of diners. Like all in-store surveillance systems galaxy-wide, the resolution was low, the footage was grainy, and the black and white images refreshed only once every three seconds. None of this made finding Cal any easier.

“Is that yer fella there?” Artur asked.

Loren squinted. “That’s a lamp.”

“Is it?” asked Artur, peering closer. “Are ye sure that’s not him?”

“Not unless he’s lost a shizzton of weight and his head’s suddenly started lighting up,” said Mech.

“Right. Fair play,” said Artur. He pointed to another screen. “What about that one?”

They all scrunched their eyes into slits and peered at the low-quality image.

“I think that’s just a shadow,” said Loren.

“Or a Grunnuk,” said Mech. “A small one, whose other arms ain’t grown in yet.”

The shape’s head illuminated.

“No, it’s another lamp,” Loren sighed. “Why are these images so bad? It’s a restaurant that reads your mind and redesigns itself to fit what you want. Shouldn’t it have better cameras?”

“They never do,” said Dan. “Fonk knows why.”

“Finding him on these is going to be impossible,” Mech grunted.

Ollie stepped forward. “Found him,” she said, raising a furry gloved hand and waving it at the figure on the bottom right screen, who had started waving at her first.

Cal was standing in the kitchen, staring directly into the camera and grinning as he waved. Ronda stood next to him, along with Nana Joan, and two of the kids Cal had worked with, whose names nobody else on the team had made any attempt to remember.

He made a hold on gesture, then leaned out of shot. A moment later, he returned, holding a hand-written sign. He pointed to it and nodded, evidently unaware that the low resolution of the camera feed made it completely fonking unreadable.

“Can anyone read that?” Loren asked.

“Not a clue,” said Deadman.

Loren leaned closer to the screen and mouthed slowly. “We can’t read it.”

“You’re aware this is a one-way feed, ma’am, yes?” said Kevin.

Loren hesitated, mumbled something quietly, then leaned back. “No, I did not.”

“Oh, for fonk’s sake. It’s not difficult,” said a voice from the doorway. They turned to find Narp standing there, glaring at them. “Just patch the audio through the restaurant’s PA system.”

Loren flicked her eyes to the cyborg. “Mech?”

“Should work. It’ll take a few minutes.”

Narp made a series of taps on a handheld device, then pulled a sarcastic smile. “You’re welcome,” he said, before about-turning and stomping off to his cabin.

“For the record, even though I didn’t even know that guy was on the ship, I hate the scrawny little bastard already,” Artur said.

“Cal, can you hear me?” Loren asked.

Cal ducked and raised both fists in surprise. Splurt rippled on his shoulder, his eyes scanning the ceiling as he tried to determine where the voice had suddenly come from.

“Hello?” said Cal. “Loren? Is that you?”

“Yes! It’s us. You ready?”

“We are,” Cal confirmed. “But I’ve got some bad news.”

Loren and Mech braced themselves. “What now?” Mech asked.

“Jork’s dead.”

There was a moment of what Cal assumed was a respectful silence, then:

“Who?” Loren asked.

“Jork,” said Cal. “You know. Jork.”

“Oh, Jork,” said Mech.

Cal tutted. “You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?”

“No,” Mech admitted.

“He was one of the guys!” Cal said, indicating Alan and Higgsy who stood further into the room behind him, their expressions suggesting they were having some difficulty coming to terms with some pretty mind-blowing news. Which they were. “He was one of the Space Teens!”

Loren and Mech exchanged a glance. “Was he the little one?” Loren asked.

“What? No, he… What are you talking about?” asked Cal, pointing to Alan. “He’s the little one.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” said Loren.

“He had the funny-shaped head and the weird eyes,” Cal said. He smiled awkwardly to Nana Joan and the others. “And, you know, the soul of an angel.”

He turned back to the screen. “Anyway, there’s no time for me to come to you, you need to come pick me up.”

“You’ve eaten too much to move again, haven’t you?” said Mech.

“No. Ronda says you need to get here quick, so get here quick,” Cal said.

Loren nodded. If Ronda had said it, it was probably worth listening to. “OK. We’ll be there soon,” she said. Cal responded with a nod and a thumbs-up.

“OK, everyone strap in,” she told the others, flicking the switches that fired up the Untitled’s take-off thrusters. “Kevin, how long until the Tribunal gets here?”

“Four minutes and eleven seconds, ma’am,” said Kevin.

“Long enough for us to get clear,” said Loren. She tapped a couple of keys and the feeds from Nana Joan’s cameras all flicked off. They were replaced by a view of the landing bay. And, somewhat more significantly, the fifty or so Tribunal units – and one tank – that were positioned directly ahead of the ship.

“Four minutes and eleven seconds ish,” Kevin corrected.

“Kevin, the shields!” Loren barked.

“Up or down, ma’am?”

“Up! Obviously up!”

A glow shimmered over the viewscreen just as a platoon of Tribunal officers opened fire with blaster rifles. The blast ricocheted harmlessly off the deflectors. Or harmlessly as far as the ship was concerned, at least. Less so to the much less fortunate ranks of Tribunal men and women who suddenly found themselves ducking, running for cover and—in one or two cases—being blown to bits.

“Haha! Nice try, ye useless great bastards!” Artur crowed. He made a series of rude gestures at the viewscreen, and no one had the heart to tell him it wasn’t a window, and so nobody could see what he was doing.

“Let’s not get cocky,” Mech warned. “Scanners say that tank fires compressed magnetic wrecker rounds.”

“Is that bad?” asked Ollie. She bit her lip and idly fiddled with her enormous furry penis. “It sounds bad.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Peaches,” Artur assured her.

“It’ll punch through the shields and rip the ship apart,” said Loren, flicking several switches on her dash.

“Well, maybe not fine, exactly…”

“Y’all might want to strap in,” Mech warned.

Ollie’s eyes widened. “Are they going to hit us?”

Mech shook his head. “Worse. Loren’s going to take off.”

Loren said nothing, but extended her index digit angrily in Mech’s direction.

“Hell, woman, even I know that’s the wrong finger,” Mech told her, then he quickly magnetized his feet as the Currently Untitled’s nose lifted off the ground and the ship tilted sharply backward. Deadman and Ollie both staggered, hit the back wall, then slumped into the space guest-seating-area chairs.

“Seatbelt,” said Dan, gesturing to Ollie’s belt with his eyes. She fumbled with the belt for a moment, then clunked it into place.

“What about yours?” Ollie asked.

Dan tried to grab his belt with the stump of one arm, but the flapping sleeve of his coat made an already difficult task impossible.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

There was a loud, drawn-out screech as the back end of the Untitled scraped along the ground. Artur looked down into the folds of Deadman’s pocket, then over at the seatbelt dangling loosely from the side of the chair.

“Yeah, feck this for a game o’ soldiers,” he muttered, hopping out of the pocket and sliding down the folds of the detective’s coat. He leaped into Ollie’s lap, then scrabbled up under the strap of her belt and tucked himself in.

Dan shrugged. “You’re worrying about nothing,” he said, before a sudden lurch from the ship catapulted him out of the chair, smashed him against the ceiling, then deposited him head-first onto the floor.

Picking himself up, he flopped back into his chair. “Don’t say a word,” he warned Artur, but the little guy was too busy trying not to die laughing to say anything.

“Fonk, they’re priming the tank’s cannon,” Mech said.

“Should I blow them up, sir?” Kevin enquired.

“No need. Everyone hold on!” Loren barked.

Deadman sighed. “Ah, shizz,” he muttered, then the Untitled shot forward and he flipped over in his chair, his legs folding up above his head until he was pressed flat against the back wall, upside-down.

“Roof, roof, roof!” Mech yelped.

They hit the roof, exploding through it in a shower of sparks, dust, and metal fragments.

“That was totally deliberate!” Loren said. “I want you all to know that.”

“Building!” warned Mech.

“Huh? Fonk!”

Loren wrenched the stick, banking the Untitled sharply down and to the left. Behind her, a flailing shape in an overcoat cartwheeled across the bridge, and a tiny bearded transvestite almost cackled himself to death.

Outside, windows exploded as the ship’s rear wings took out the corner of a skyscraper that had already been nine-tenths of the way toward being condemned.

“Was that one deliberate, too, ma’am?” Kevin enquired.

“OK, that one, not so much,” Loren admitted. She wrestled the ship onto an even keel above a canyon of buildings. “We need to go get Cal. Where’s Nana Joan’s?”

Deadman dragged himself to his feet. His coat was hanging off one shoulder and his hat was nowhere to be seen, but he otherwise seemed no worse the wear for his ordeal. He raised a stump and pointed vaguely at a building somewhere up ahead.

“That’s it.”

“The Dunkin’ Droobucks?”

“If you say so,” Deadman shrugged.

“There’s a yard out back,” Mech said, studying the screen. “Take us down there.”

“On it,” said Loren, guiding the ship into an almost smooth descent.

Mech tapped a couple of switches on the front of the viewscreen. An image of Cal in the Nana Joan’s washing-up area appeared.

“You hear me, man?” Mech asked.

“Loud and clear,” said Cal. “You here yet?”

“Just about. Meet us up on the roof,” Mech said.

Loren glanced across at him. “The roof? You told me to land in the yard.”

“I know,” said Mech. He braced himself as the ship landed heavily on the restaurant’s flat roof. On screen, Cal ducked again, then looked straight up at the ceiling. “But if I’d told you to land on the roof there ain’t no saying where we’d have wound up.”

“We’re on our way,” said Cal. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Loren turned in her seat, her blue skin darkening a shade or two. “I can’t believe you did that! I was going to land in the yard.”

“And yet here we are on the roof,” Mech pointed out.

“Because you said, ‘Meet us up on the roof,’ so I changed direction!”

Mech raised an eyebrow. “Sure you did,” he said.

“You want me to land in the yard? I can land in the yard. Not a problem,” Loren said. She leaned closer to the screen and looked down. “I mean, it’s smaller than it looked from higher up, but as long as they don’t need that storage shed, I can make it.”

“Thankfully, there’s no need, ma’am,” Kevin informed her. “Master Carver has returned.”

From the back, there came the sound of the hatch lowering. It was followed by the clanking of several sets of footsteps hurrying inside.

“We’re in,” said Cal. He clattered onto the bridge, with two elderly women and two anxious-looking teenagers following at his heels. “Ronda says to get us the fonk out of here!”

Ronda stumbled a little. Nana Joan caught her by the elbow, steadying her.

“Too late,” Ronda groaned. “Everyone brace!”

“What? Why?” asked Loren.

“The tank!” Mech barked, tapping his arm to bring up a view from one of the ship’s rear-facing cameras. It afforded them a really quite impressive view of the city, but everyone’s focus was on the compressed magnetic wrecker round that hurtled toward them, growing steadily larger as it soared through the air.

“Shizz! Everyone down!” Mech roared.

“Why, don’t we have shields?” asked Cal.

“This thing goes through shields!” cried Loren.

“What?! Well, how is that fair?”

There was some confusion, quite a lot of blundering, a bit of shouting, and then everyone hit the deck and curled their arms over their heads.

Everyone but Ollie.

She rose suddenly, seams of color glowing in the pattern on her cheeks, one arm swinging up in front of her, fingers splayed wide.

It would’ve been an impressively dramatic moment had her seatbelt not slammed her back into the chair and almost forced Artur’s innards out through the top of his skull.

“Shoite! Bit o’ warning next time,” he said, then he screamed briefly as Ollie unclipped the belt and he thumped onto the floor.

Standing, Ollie tried again. The wrecker round took up about half the screen now. The marks on Ollie’s face danced and flickered like firelight as she brought her hand up. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, exactly. She just knew she had to do something. If she didn’t, then everyone on the ship was going to—

“Get a fonking move on!” barked Deadman.

Ollie snapped to a startled sort of attention. “Oh! Right!”

She concentrated. Not really on anything in particular, just concentrated in general. The wrecker round screamed closer, dominating almost the entire rear view now, and blocking out the whole city.

It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working!

And then, to Ollie’s surprise, it was. The missile hung motionless in the air just a few feet from the back of the Untitled. Even though she was nowhere near it, Ollie could feel the thing’s weight dragging on her fingertips. It wasn’t heavy, not by a long way, but she could feel it.

“I did it,” she said. “I stopped it.”

Slowly, one by one, everyone raised their heads.

“We’re alive?” said Cal. He was completely cocooned in a gooey green protective coating, with only a circle of his face remaining uncovered.

“I hope so,” Mech answered. “Because if I’m dead, and this is my afterlife, I ain’t going to be happy.”

Dan was the first to stand up, which was impressive given the no arms thing. He approached Ollie cautiously, like any sudden movements might make her explode.

“I’ve got it. I’ve stopped it,” she said. Her irises had become swirling pools of dark purple, the pupils constricted into tiny dots. Her voice became markedly less confident. “What should I do with it now?”

“Get rid o’ the feckin’ thing,” Artur suggested.

“What he said,” Mech agreed.

Ollie shrugged. “OK.”

She lowered her hand. The wrecker round plunged straight downward, dropping out of the camera’s view.

Ronda didn’t need precognition to realize what was going to happen next.

“The roof!” she warned, just as the wrecker round made impact with the rooftop the Untitled was sitting on.

Half of the upper floor of the building erupted with a roar of fire and rubble. The Currently Untitled groaned as it toppled and slid backward into the fiery hole.

Loren dived for her seat, but gravity caught her and she slid back across the bridge, and straight out into the corridor.

“Shizz. I hope we closed the back door,” Cal muttered. “Kevin, get us out of here!” he managed to shout before Splurt covered him completely. Part of the green gloop squirmed as it formed a snorkel-like tube for Cal to breathe through.

“Now, sir?” Kevin asked.

“Yms!” Cal slurred through the Splurt-tube. “Hrry de fnk up!”

“Very good,” Kevin intoned.

The Currently Untitled screamed straight up, its impulse engine thrusters launching it skyward like a rocket.

Through the semi-transparent sludginess of Splurt, Cal was dimly aware of a lot of people being thrown around. He was much more aware of his stomach being rammed upwards into his kidneys or liver, or whatever other organs lurked in that general direction. A wave of nausea crashed over him, and he had to fight very hard not to throw up inside the breathing tube of his Splurt suit.

Keeping his feet magnetized, Mech managed up as far as his knees. The viewscreen was awash with the bright, brilliant blue of the vast engines that kept the planet’s floating cities hovering in the sky.

“You see those, right?” he asked.

“The goblins, sir?” Kevin asked, sounding a little surprised.

“The cities.”

“Oh. Yes. Those. I see them, sir,” Kevin said. “Not a problem. I’m guiding us toward a gap.”

“Right,” said Mech. Sure enough, there was a space between two of the cities a little over on the right that would be more than big enough for the Untitled to pass through. A curtain of black was visible beyond it, dotted with twinkling spots of light.

Mech got to his feet and cleared his throat. “You, uh, you know I ain’t even gonna ask about the goblins thing, right?”

“I appreciate that, sir,” said Kevin.

“Don’t mention it.”

Kevin’s voice became a whisper. “And so do they.”

Mech blinked. “Uh, right. Good.”

The Untitled whooshed through the gap, punched up through the atmosphere, then curved into a low orbit around the planet Parloo.

Once he was confident that Cal was safe, Splurt rolled himself back up into a ball and took up his usual spot on Cal’s shoulder.

“Thanks, buddy,” Cal said, giving the goo-ball a pat.

He got to his feet and dusted himself down, then plastered on one of his most reassuring grins and beamed it at Ronda, Dan Deadman, and all the other visitors currently piled up at the back of the bridge. He offered words of encouragement as they all untangled themselves and got to their feet, all of which were varying degrees of patronizing.

He waited until they were all upright, then ratcheted his smile up by a couple of notches. What the hell? They’d earned it.

“Uh, so, welcome to the Currently Untitled,” he announced. “It isn’t usually this rough.”

“It’s usually worse,” said Mech.

“Ha! He’s such a kidder,” Cal laughed.

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“Oh. Right.” He nodded. “No, you’re right, it’s usually worse. This was actually…” He held up a finger. “Wait. One second. Loren? You still alive?”

Loren appeared suddenly in the doorway, making Cal jump. Her tightly tied ponytail had come loose, and her long dark hair hung down over her face.

“Jesus. What are you doing, auditioning for The Ring?”

Loren pushed her hair back and scowled. “For what?”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on in, take a seat. We’re about to get down to business.”

Nana Joan’s wrinkled brow crinkled as she frowned. “What kind of ‘business?’”

“The most important kind of business there is,” said Cal. He drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t as impressive as it sounds. “We’re going to kill the King of Space.”

Higgsy, who, besides the occasional sob or whimper, hadn’t opened his mouth since Ronda had zapped him with her time-fixing mind powers, suddenly ejected a gasp. “What is that?”

Cal blinked. “What is what? The King of Space? You mean, ‘Who is that?’ Higgsy. Grammar’s important.”

“That isn’t grammar,” Alan pointed out.

“Alan, please,” said Cal, reproachfully. “Let’s not split hairs here.”

Higgsy shook his head, which made his puffy orange cheeks flap noisily.

“N-no, that’s not what… I didn’t mean…” he babbled. With a whimper, he jabbed a pudgy finger at the viewscreen. “I mean what is that?”

Everyone turned and followed his gaze. For a while, nobody spoke.

“Oh, that thing?” said Cal. A space station that looked not unlike a giant monstrous skull leered at them from a few hundred miles away across space. Cal swallowed. “I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about…”

Six

Mizette trudged through the jungle behind her father, scowling whenever a branch pinged back and whipped her in the face, which seemed to be happening a lot.

“So, like, where is it?” she asked. “The Unshuk, I mean. If you point me in the right direction, I can totally beat it.”

“No. You cannot,” Graxan replied. “I made the same mistake. I believed I was ready to face the Unshuk. Believed I could defeat it in combat.” He snorted. It was a short, sad sound that was filled with a cocktail of regret and self-loathing. “Such arrogance.”

They walked on in silence, following a path that only Graxan could see. Miz didn’t really want to know the answer to the question, but she went ahead and asked it, anyway.

“It beat you?”

Graxan inhaled slowly, filling his chest. “It beat me,” he admitted.

More silence. More walking.

“Like, was it close?” Miz asked.

Graxan stopped, just for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder, and Miz realized she had never seen him looking so old. Even when he’d been dying in her arms, he hadn’t looked so defeated. So broken.

“No. It was not.”

From the way he said it, Miz knew her father had no desire to keep discussing his failure. She took the opportunity to run over what she remembered of the Unshuk legend from her education back on Greyx Prime.

According to the legend, only those Greyx deemed ‘worthy’ were sent to face the Unshuk. Worthiness, it seemed, came in many forms, depending on which version of the legend you read. In some, only the Greyx kings had the honor of battling the Unshuk. In others, the opportunity was extended to great heroes and military leaders.

More modern versions of the legend took things a step further. In those, the attributes required to make one worthy of facing the Unshuk might be a history of charity work, an above-average sense of balance, or the ability to put a cover on a king-size duvet without breaking down into tears.

Graxan had always been a traditionalist who believed that only members of the Greyx Royal Family were given the chance to prove themselves worthy against the Unshuk. Had he not been a member of the Greyx Royal Family, it’s entirely possible that he may have taken a different view, of course.

The path – if there even was one – curved down by a river of foaming black water. It didn’t look drinkable, but then that didn’t matter, because Miz wasn’t thirsty. Being dead wasn’t without its benefits, it seemed.

What else did she know about the Unshuk? It was usually depicted as being monstrous. That was a given. Defeating it granted access to the Great Hearth, but what happened if you lost? Was this it? You were doomed to hang around in this place? As eternal damnation went, it could certainly be a lot worse.

“What about everyone else?” she asked, dodging another pinging branch that flicked back at her.

“Who?” Graxan asked.

“Like, the other kings, or whatever. Everyone else who fought the Unshuk and lost.”

Graxan winced. “I prefer ‘didn’t win,’” he told her.

“Whatever. What happened to them?”

“I do not know,” Graxan confessed. “You are the first Greyx I have encountered since my arrival.”

He looked back at her. His tail wagged limply. “And it is good to see you, daughter,” he told her. “For too long, I have wandered here, aimless and alone. But you… You have given me back my purpose. Even in death, you have given me a reason to live.”

Miz crossed her arms and shifted self-consciously. “Well, yeah, because I’m awesome,” she said.

Graxan laughed. The sound took Miz by surprise, because she couldn’t remember ever hearing it before.

“You are,” he agreed. “But we’re going to make you even more so.”

He hobbled on faster, gesturing for her to keep up. “This way. We are not far.”

“Not far from what?” Miz asked. “In fact, I don’t even care. I am so bored of this jungle, I’d rather be pretty much anywhere.”

“Not far from here,” Graxan said. As her father pulled aside some branches, Miz was presented with a clearing in the jungle. It stretched from where the trees ended over to a vertical cliff face fifty or so feet away. The stone was dark and slick with slimy moss. Miz could see the entrance to a narrow cave tucked between two crags in the vast rock.

Mizette felt the fur on the back of her neck tremble as she stepped up to the clearing’s edge. “And what’s this supposed to be?” she asked.

“This, daughter…” Graxan said, his voice stern and cold and suddenly right behind Mizette. He shoved her before she could turn. Caught off guard, she stumbled into the clearing, slipped on the muddy ground, and rolled clumsily to a stop.

When she looked up, Graxan was nowhere to be seen. His voice came to her from within the jungle’s foliage.

“…is where you begin your training.”

Somewhere deep in the shadows of the cave, something began to stir. Lots of somethings, none of them pleasant.

Mizette stood, tutted loudly, and rolled her eyes.

“Like, thanks a lot, Dad,” she muttered, then she flicked out her claws and waited for whatever the fonk was in there to show its face.

Seven

Dealing with the giant skull-shaped space station had been a lot easier than Cal had at first anticipated, mostly because they’d just looked at it for a while, passed comment on how intimidating it looked, then flown the fonk away before it could give them any problems.

They were now hurtling through space at warp speed, running laps around some sort of greeny-pinky cloud thing where the chances of running into any other ships were slim. Cal had requested that Loren stick to ‘one of the low warps,’ so he didn’t vomit on everyone during his important briefing, and so far his stomach contents were holding steady. He’d cunningly hidden Splurt’s glass tank, two small trash cans and an assortment of plastic carrier bags around the bridge, just to be on the safe side. He was hopeful he wouldn’t need any of them, but the aroma of Dan Deadman wasn’t exactly doing his stomach any favors, so it was still too early to say.

He paced back and forth in front of the viewscreen while Deadman and the other assembled guests all stood or sat at the bridge’s far end. Even Narp, with some nagging from his mother, Ronda, had emerged from his room, and it had quickly become apparent that the ship really needed a bigger space guest-seating-area.

“OK, I think introductions are in order first of all,” Cal said, clapping his hands together. “You all know who I am.”

“Nob Muntch,” said Dan.

Cal clicked his fingers and pointed at the detective. “Ha! You’d think that would have gotten old by now, but… nope. Apparently not. That was the name on the fake ID you got me a while back, granted. And hilarious it was, too. But my real name—and the name I’d appreciate you all using for me—is Cal Carver. Although ‘Captain’ is fine, if you want to be a little more formal. Sir?” He considered this, then looked back at Loren. “Is ‘sir’ too much?”

“It’s way too much,” Loren confirmed.

“OK, not ‘sir,’ unless you really want to, but…” Cal’s eyes widened. “Wait! I have an idea! Instead of me doing it, we’ll go around the room and all introduce ourselves. Maybe say your name and something interesting about yourself. How does that sound?”

“Like a total fonking waste of time,” said Mech.

“Alrighty, then!” Cal replied. “So, I’ll start. I’m Cal. I’m from the planet Earth, and… let me see… Oh, yeah, I’ve personally saved the universe several times.” He smiled, but tried to keep it reasonably modest. “Now, who’s next? Loren?”

Loren shook her head. “What? No. Mech can go next.”

“Fonk you, I ain’t doing this shizz.”

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Cal said, giving Loren a playful nudge. “You can do it. We’re all friends here.” He began to lightly punch the air. “Lo-ren, Lo-ren, Lo-ren.”

Realizing she wasn’t getting out of it, Loren sighed. “Fine. “I’m Loren. I’m the pilot.”

Cal raised his eyebrows and watched her expectantly. “And your interesting fact is…?”

“I already gave it. I’m the pilot.”

“Oh. Right.” Cal pursed his lips and waggled his mouth from side to side. “I mean, it’s not very interesting.”

“I’d argue it barely qualifies as a fact either, sir,” Kevin chipped in.

Loren glared at Cal in a way that made it clear that this was as interesting a fact as he was likely to get.

“Good job! Moving on,” said Cal. “Mech?”

“This is a waste of time, man.”

“Come on, Mech. Tell them your name.”

“You just told them my damn name. Twice.”

Cal smiled. It was a particularly patronizing smirk that almost popped one of Mech’s fuses. “Tell them your real name.”

Mech scowled back at him, then sighed.

“Fine. I’m Gluk Disselpoof,” Mech muttered. He ignored Cal’s snort of laughter and crossed his arms across his armored chest. “And for the final damn time, just so everyone is clear, I ain’t no motherfonking robot.”

“Right. Please bear that in mind, people. It’s very important. Mech is not a robot,” said Cal, turning to the others. “He’s an android.”

“Cyborg,” Mech snapped.

“Shizz. Yeah, sorry,” said Cal. He frowned. “Wait, is there a diff… You know what? Forget it. He’s a cyborg. Let’s all try to keep that in mind, and please, while you are guests here on our ship, I’d like everyone to respect Mech’s right to self-identify as whatever he likes.”

“What the fonk do you mean ‘self-identify’? I’m a cyborg. That’s actually what I am.”

Cal gave him a thumbs-up. “You tell ‘em, buddy. You be whatever version of you that your heart tells you to be.”

“I hate you, man.”

“I’m proud of you, big guy,” Cal told him, his voice becoming an emotionally charged whisper. “We all are.”

He spun to the others. “OK. Who’s next?” He looked across the gathered faces and settled on Ollie. “Young lady?”

Ollie’s eyes darted around the room. “Huh?”

“Tell us your name and something about yourself,” said Cal.

“Why?”

“We’re introducing ourselves.”

Ollie frowned “To who?”

“Uh, to each other.”

Ollie glanced around at the others. Her eyes briefly met the four eyes of Higgsy, who immediately spasmed in embarrassment behind his thick glasses, and promptly looked away.

“OK. I’m Oledol Lodelo. You can all call me Ollie,” she said. “I was tortured every day in a Hell-dimension for, I don’t know, we think about twenty years.”

Cal blinked. “Fonk. OK. That was a little darker than I was aiming for. Anything, you know, more positive?”

Ollie thought. “I made a new friend yesterday.”

“Better!” said Cal. “That’s more like it. Keeping it light. Good job. Now, moving—”

“But he turned into a monster,” Ollie continued.

“Oh.”

“Then died.”

“Jesus,” said Cal.

This was not going as well as he’d hoped. At the rate they were going, they’d be here for hours, and it wasn’t proving as successful an icebreaker as he’d anticipated. If anything, the ice was thicker than it had been when they’d started.

He decided to knock the whole thing on the head, and try to arrange some sort of team-building event later. Paintball, maybe.

He gasped. “Space paintball!”

“What’s that ye say?” asked Artur.

“Hmm? Doesn’t matter. Just thinking out loud,” Cal replied. “I’m going to speed things up a little here. This is Nana Joan,” he said, indicating the blue-haired restaurant owner. “Don’t let that sweet-looking exterior fool you. She’s incredibly resilient, breathtakingly violent, and the only luggage she brought aboard was an alarming number of guns.”

“Thank you, dearie,” said Nana. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Sticking with the old lady theme – no offense – many of you know Ronda. She’s a magic space nun.”

“Just a nun,” said Ronda. “Former nun, actually.”

“Which apparently means something different up here, because where I come from nuns aren’t martial arts experts, and don’t see the future.”

He frowned. “At least, I don’t think they do. But… do they? I mean, maybe…”

Cal gave himself a shake and decided he’d come back to that at a later date.

“The skinny guy there who really should be accepting that the facial hair thing just isn’t happening? That’s Ronda’s son, Narp. He’s the greatest computer hacker in the galaxy.”

“Damn right,” Narp crowed.

“He also has personal hygiene issues, doesn’t have a girlfriend, and needs to be three hundred percent more respectful to his mother,” Cal continued.

He moved on before Narp could argue.

“Dan Deadman, Space Detective!” he announced.

“It’s just ‘detective,’” Dan corrected.

“Go with Space Detective. Just sounds better,” Cal advised. “So, uh, here’s an interesting fact. Dan Deadman is literally a dead man. By which I mean he’s dead. Or mostly dead, anyway.”

“Explains the smell,” Narp mumbled.

“Kinda pot kettle there, Narp, don’t you think?” said Cal. “Also, bonus fun fact about Mr Deadman, he currently has no arms. Didn’t you guys get to the morgue?”

“No,” said Dan.

“We sourced some from elsewhere,” Mech added.

Cal blinked. “Where the fonk do you source…? In fact, please don’t ever tell me.”

He gestured to the first of two teenagers who currently stood looking mortified beside Nana Joan. “This is Higgsy. He’s a friend of mine from way back.”

“Best friends,” said Higgsy, then he looked briefly alarmed and bit down on his lip, as if horrified the words had snuck out.

“Uh, yes. Something like that, yeah,” Cal said, in a rare display of diplomacy. “One of Higgys’s strengths is his ability to absorb dirty dishes into his flesh, then spit them out again marginally cleaner. Albeit covered in sticky residue.”

This was pretty much the only thing Cal knew about Higgsy, but he felt it was impressive enough to merit a mention. Others were less sure.

“How the fonk is that going to help us?” asked Mech.

“Well, obviously…” Cal’s mouth flapped open and closed a few times, but produced nothing useful.

“Moving on,” he continued, smiling down at the next in line. “Alan. This guy might not look like much…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alan demanded.

“…but he’s got it where it counts. He’s a fierce and loyal friend,” Cal said. “Also, when he gets angry, he Hulks out into a terrifying monster that might well kill us all, so try not to get on his bad side.”

“Feck. Not another one. I’ve had me fill of those bastards lately,” Artur said.

“And for once, Alan isn’t the smallest person in the room,” Cal said, swiveling to address Artur. He squatted down and lowered his voice, as if worried its full volume might be too much for Artur to take. “Well, hey there, little guy. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you. How could I forget our new space leprechaun friend?”

“What’s he talking to me like that for?” asked Artur, squinting up at Deadman.

“And your name is…?” Cal raised his eyebrows and nodded encouragingly.

Artur stared back at him, saying nothing.

Cal cleared this throat, but gently so as not to frighten the tiny man. “That’s your cue,” he whispered. “Everyone, this little guy is…?”

“Five seconds away from inserting yer head inside yer own rectal cavity,” said Artur. He stood on his tiptoes, bringing his face incrementally closer to Cal’s. “Sideways.”

“He’s Artur,” said Ollie.

Artur tutted. “Thanks a bunch, Peaches.”

“Artur. Right!” said Cal. He stood up, put his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “It’s crazy. You even sound Irish. Are you Irish? Space Irish? Is that a thing?”

Artur’s eyes widened until they were perfect circles of surprise, then narrowed into slits. “Say what now? How d’ye know that word?”

Cal blinked. “What word? Space? I’m familiar with it.”

“No, not space! Why wouldn’t ye know the word ‘space’? Irish, I mean. How d’ye know that word?”

“Why? Wait… What are you saying? You’re actually Irish?” asked Cal. “Like, actually from Ireland?”

“Me great-great-grandmammy, rest her soul, was originally from the planet Ireland, but no one I’ve asked since has ever heard o’ the place,” said Artur. “And it don’t show up on any maps, or what have ye.”

Cal shook his head. “Because it’s not a planet. It’s a country.”

“A country?”

“Yes! On Earth. Where I come from!” Cal said, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “You know what this means, right? I mean, I don’t want to overstate it, but we’re practically cousins!”

Artur’s eyebrows began a complex dance up and down his forehead as he tried to process this information. After some consideration, he formulated what he felt was an appropriate response.

“Me bollocks.”

Cal leaned back and let out a little yelp of surprise. “Hey! Hold the phone. We can say booloops?”

He heard the word that came out of his mouth and frowned. “Booloops. Booloops.” Cal looked up at Deadman. “How come he can say booloops and I can’t?”

Dan shrugged. “We don’t know. We think it’s the accent.”

“Oh,” said Cal, a little disappointed. Still, as censored swearwords went, ‘booloops’ was going to take some beating.

“Anyway. I think that’s everyone,” he concluded. Splurt rippled on Cal’s shoulder. “Shizz! Sorry, buddy. This is Splurt. He’s… He’s Splurt,” Cal said. “That’s basically all we know.”

“And that he’s a shapeshifter who borrows mass from himself through time,” Mech added.

“And that, yes. His name, and that. Those are all the things we know,” Cal said. “Also, he’s adorable, but then you could all see that for yourselves.”

“What’s the story with bringing us all together?” asked Dan.

“Wow, OK. Let’s just go ahead and jump right into it, I guess.”

“What the fonk do you mean ‘jump right into it?’” Mech demanded. “We’ve been doing introductions for the past fifteen minutes. We’re a long way from right fonking into it.”

Artur cleared his throat. “Off and back on again,” he whispered in Cal’s direction. “Just sayin’, like.”

“Thanks, cuz,” Cal said. He winked. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Mech muttered something below his breath. It was too low for anyone to hear, but even those who had only recently met him for the first time assumed it was probably quite mean.

“Jumping right into it…” he said, much louder and with a very deliberate glare in Cal’s direction.

“Huh? Oh! Yes. Jumping right into it, here’s the situation…”

* * *

The situation was not good. Not good at all. The situation was bad, even.

That was right, wasn’t it? That was the opposite thing? His eyes tick-tocked as he tried to swish away the fog in his head. Good. Bad. Those had been things, he thought. Those had existed.

Once upon a time.

But there was no time to dwell on what had or hadn’t been. There was so much to do. Always so much to do.

“Too much, almost,” he said aloud, then he jumped with fright and giggled nervously at the sound of his own voice. He didn’t get much of that these days. Sound. No. Not much. Not much, at all. Everything was so quiet now that even his own speech would sometimes catch him off guard. Sometimes, it scared him. Other times, like now, he enjoyed it.

“Big noise!” he shouted, giving himself a start. He laughed again, then whispered, “Little noise,” so everything was balanced and as it should be. The balance was important. There couldn’t be big noises without little ones. Couldn’t be day without night. He couldn’t be alive and moving around without everyone else being dead and not.

And that was the problem. There were so many of them. So many. He’d carried a lot of them to The Pile at first, but the further afield he went, the longer the trip took, and the mushier they gradually became. Carrying had become difficult then. Dragging worked better, but bits kept falling off along the way, and he’d wasted a lot of time going back to pick up knees and buttocks.

The shopping cart had worked well for a while, until the bodies began first to ooze, then dribble, then pour through the gaps in the metal.

He’d stopped gathering for a while then. It was winter, and the dust clouds had blocked most of the thin sunlight high up in the atmosphere, leaving the world below an icy-cold scab of darkness. He’d lived in a hole in the ground, and survived on dried noodles and powdered soups that he’d mixed with melted ice-water in order to…

To…

Actually, he couldn’t remember why he’d done that. He could only assume that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Good idea at the time!” he said, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting along the man-made canyon ahead of him. His voice bounced back and forth, and if he closed his eyes and held his breath and pulled himself in really tight, he could almost believe the voice was coming from the mountains of bones that towered on either side of him.

When the sound had gone away, he opened himself up again. A skull leered back at him, just one amongst thousands. Tens of thousands, maybe. He’d long-since stopped counting. Or maybe he’d never started. He forgot a lot these days. Most of it on purpose.

The skull’s empty eye sockets stared deep into his own. He turned away, a single tear cutting a track through the years of grime layered upon his face.

“Good idea at the time,” he whispered.

And with that, he went back to work.

* * *

The situation was, like, totally under control.

When the lizard-like critters had first come swarming out of the cave in the hundreds, Miz had experienced a few fleeting moments of concern. There were a lot of the things, they moved quickly, and all six of their feet ended in a set of serious-looking boney hooks that appeared to have been custom-designed for tearing through flesh.

That had been the bad news.

The good news was, they were fonking delicious, and being dead had done nothing to diminish Mizette’s appetite. If anything, it had only made her more ravenous, and when she’d started gobbling the nippy little bamstons up by the handful, the more sensible among their number had taken the hint and disappeared back into their hole in the wall.

She had half a mind to go in there and finish them off, but she was bleeding from several tiny but painful wounds, and had that bloated feeling that comes after eating too much in a single sitting. Instead, she settled for waving a clawed fist at the cave and shouting a half-hearted, “Yeah, you’d better run!” in its general direction.

When she turned around, her father was standing behind her. He had fashioned a branch into a long walking stick and leaned on it for support.

“So,” he began, the words rattling deep in his chest. “What did you learn?”

“Uh, I don’t know. How about never to let you stand behind me? Or maybe that you’re a total shizznod,” said Miz. “Was that, like, the lesson you were aiming for? Because, just so we’re totally clear, tossing me to those things like that? That totally sucked.”

Graxan swung with the stick. It thwacked her across the upper arm, catching her by surprise. “Ow! Seriously? What is your issue?”

“Quickly. What did you learn?” he demanded.

Miz’s tongue flopped out and her breath came faster. She suddenly became aware of her heartbeat. It thumped louder and faster than a dead person’s heart had any right to. Possibly louder and faster than it ever had before.

She felt like she’d been running. Too fast. Too far.

All the tiny wounds in her flesh were tingling. Her blood boiled in her veins as her brain became a lumpy gray puree inside her skull.

She was on the ground, she realized. How long had she been down here?

Graxan appeared above her, his face floating in a narrowing chasm of darkness.

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” he intoned, and then Mizette’s world ended in a searing explosion of pain.

* * *

Mizette of the Greyx was dead. This much was certain.

She wasn’t sure how she knew this, exactly, but know it she…

Wait.

Hadn’t she done this part already?

She was standing in darkness. And not just any darkness – this was the same darkness as last time. She could feel it, somehow. It was terrifyingly, reassuringly familiar. She had been here before. More than that, she had lived this very moment before.

“So… OK,” she said, her voice as flat and stifled as last time. “So this is weird.”

The pain was gone. The tiny wounds that the lizard-things had pock-marked her fur with had vanished. Her brain, as far as she could tell, was unpureed. That was something, at least.

“What did you learn?” croaked a voice from behind her. Miz turned to find Graxan standing there, leaning heavily on his stick and breathing in deep, uneven wheezes.

“Did you do, like, whatever this is?” Miz asked, gesturing around them. There had been absolute darkness a moment ago, but she could see her father just fine. “Because I am so not in the mood for any dumb—”

“And I am not in the mood for your insolence!” Graxan roared. For a moment, all his strength and power seemed to return, but then his body was wracked by a fit of coughing, and he once again became just a tired old Greyx.

“Like, chill out, you old weirdo,” Miz told him. “Since when did shouting at me ever get you anywhere?”

Graxan’s gray eyebrows furrowed into the beginnings of a rage, but then he thought better of it. She was right, of course. She was too stubborn and poink-headed to be shouted down.

He wished he could blame her mother.

“Mizette, please,” he said. “This is important. What did you learn?”

Miz sniffed. She crossed her arms across her chest, then studied the claws on one hand. She sighed. A good one, too, that came all the way up from her toes.

“Fine. They were poisonous. Or, like, venomous, or whatever,” she huffed. “It was in their claws, so when they cut me, it got into my blood. That’s right. Right?”

Graxan nodded his approval. “Right. It was in their claws. Although, it probably didn’t help that you ate three hundred of them, either,” he said.

“I mean, no, but they were totally delicious,” Miz said. She patted her stomach. “Is it wrong that I kind of want another one?”

For the second time in as long as Miz could remember, her father laughed. It was an explosive, joyous sound that came all the way from his toes and, to Miz’s surprise, made her feel oddly proud.

“That is wrong, yes,” he confirmed. “But unsurprising. They are very tasty.”

He gestured to a path that had appeared from nowhere and seemed to lead back to there, too. “Now, we must continue your training,” he said.

“Sure. I mean… Fine, whatever,” Miz said. She indicated for Graxan to go ahead. “But there’s, like, no way I’m letting you get behind me again.”

Eight

Cal stood in front of the viewscreen, one hand raised to indicate the neatly typed headings on the slide currently being displayed.

“So, any questions?” he asked.

At the far end of the bridge, the others looked from Cal to the screen and back again.

“Questions?” said Dan. “You haven’t told us anything. There’s nothing there.”

“Yes, there is,” said Cal. He indicated the headings again. “Good Plans, Bad Plans. And then some space to fill them in. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“I feel like ye’ve jumped over some key information here,” said Artur. “Plans for what?”

“The King of Space,” said Cal.

“There’s a king of space?” asked Ollie.

Cal nodded sagely. “You know him better as Geronimus Krone!”

“I don’t,” said Ollie. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh. OK. Well, that sucked some of the drama out of the moment. Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” said Ollie, quite pleased by what she was taking as a compliment.

“Looks like we’re going to have to go right back to the beginning,” said Cal, lowering himself into his seat. “You might want to get comfortable, this is going to be a long story.”

“He sent Geronimus Krone and his whole army back in time,” said Mech, cutting in. “They took over way back when, and now everything’s gone to shizz.”

“That was… surprisingly informative,” Cal said. “But what do you mean ‘he’ sent Krone back in time? We did it. Accidentally, I should add.”

Mech shook his head. “Uh-uh. Wasn’t me. Wasn’t Loren, neither.”

“Well, maybe not directly…”

“Not directly, not indirectly, not in-any-motherfonking-way-ly.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks. “Personally, I blame Kevin. I mean, I don’t want to point fingers here, but it was totally Kevin.”

“What was?” asked Kevin.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter,” said Cal. He jumped up from his seat. “So, yes. That’s the situation. Geronimus Krone, the most powerful man in the uni… No, wait, that’s He-Man. What is it they call Krone again?”

“The most dangerous man in the galaxy?” said Loren, although she didn’t sound convinced. “Or most evil, maybe? I think it’s one of those.”

“Right. But neither one’s good, is my point. Anyway, him. He went back to a point in time that we haven’t been able to identify yet.”

“Though, to be fair, sir, we haven’t tried,” said Kevin.

“Good point. We probably should’ve tried that by now,” Cal said. “Kev, can you work on it?”

“Not really, sir.”

Cal hesitated. “Oh.”

“It’s my databanks, you see? The altered timeline has played havoc with them. They’re all over the place. All my records of Geronimus Krone relate to the unaltered timeline, where he was captured and imprisoned, and not inadvertently sent back to rampage through time by you.”

“Us!” Cal corrected. “Sent back to rampage through time by us.” He sighed. “So, you can’t figure out when he escaped the time thingy?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Kevin said. “I could have a guess, if you like.”

“Would it be an educated guess?” Cal asked.

“Not really, no.”

“Then why would you even…?”

Cal inhaled slowly through his nose. “Let’s start again. We need to find a way to defeat Geronimus Krone, his generals – who we’ve unanimously agreed to call the Four Space Horsemen of the Spacepocalypse.”

“I did not agree to that,” said Mech.

“And,” Cal continued, “his army, which has – and you might want to write this down somewhere – one thousand thousand ships. Which is another way of saying ‘a million ships’. I know. Don’t ask. And spaceships, I mean. Not water ships. Which is a shame, because that would be less of an issue.”

A thought occurred to him. He leaned closer to Loren. “We do know for sure it’s spaceships, right?”

“It’s spaceships,” Loren confirmed.

“Damn it. Really hoped I’d found us a loophole there.”

Cal looked across the bridge at the faces of the motley crew he had assembled. Their expressions ranged from confused to… Well, largely just confused, actually. They didn’t look fired up and ready to fight. They barely looked fired up and ready to politely discuss.

He’d hoped to keep this in reserve for just before some epic final battle, but there wasn’t going to be an epic final battle at this rate, so it was now or never.

It was time for his big motivational speech.

“Kevin, music,” Cal said.

A jolly circus tune tootled from the speakers.

“Not that music. The other one.”

There was a screech like a record player needle scratching on vinyl, then the circus tune was replaced by the one piece of music Cal had always been able to count on to raise his spirits and get him motivated. The greatest inspirational tune of all time, and the one guaranteed to stir him into action, even in his darkest hours. Hell, he had set it as his alarm in the months following the car accident that had claimed his wife and daughter’s life, and for so many of those impossible weeks it had been the thing—the only thing—that got him out of bed.

It was awe-inspiring.

It was epic.

It was the theme to Cagney & Lacey.

He inhaled deeply, as if drawing the very essence of the punchy saxophone intro deep inside himself, before addressing the assembled group.

“You know what I see before me?” he asked.

Narp side-eyed Dan Deadman. “Is it Gangrene?” he guessed. “Because that’s what I see.”

“I see the finest, most capable group ever assembled in one place,” said Cal. “Out of all the people I’ve quite recently met,” he added for clarity. “In some cases only briefly. In others, actually not at all.”

“Are you supposed to be making a point?” asked Loren.

“Huh? Oh! Yes.”

He inhaled again, taking strength from the Cagney & Lacey theme. “My point is that most of us boarded this ship as strangers. Sure, Nana Joan knows Higgsy and Alan, Ronda is stuck with Narp, even though he should probably have left home already, or at least started paying rent. And the Deadman crew…” Cal chuckled. “Well, I have no doubt they’ve had all kinds of thrilling adventures together, that I’m sure we’d all enjoy hearing about at a more appropriate time. But still. We were strangers. Mostly.”

Cal pointed out into the corridor.

“When you stepped aboard this ship, that was no longer the case. You stopped being strangers, and you became something else.”

“Aw, man…” Mech groaned, sensing what was coming next.

“You became a team.”

“He’s actually going to fonking say it.”

“And not just any old team. No. You became a Space Team,” Cal said. Excitement flitted across his face. “A Super Ultra Mega Space… Actually, no. No, that’s way too much. That sounds desperate. Let’s just stick with Space Team.”

He straightened, drawing himself up to his full, if largely unimpressive, height. “And you know what Space Team does?” He gestured to Alan and Artur. “It looks out for the little guys.”

“Ye’d better feckin’ look out for me, alright,” Artur warned him.

Cal indicated Nana Joan and Ronda. “It fights the good fight. It tracks down villains,” he continued, patting Dan Deadman on the shoulder. He looked from Higgsy to Narp. “It… hacks computers and does the dishes. OK, I’m starting to struggle here. It’s not a perfect analogy.”

He stepped back and shrugged, his arms flopping limply at his sides as all the grandstanding drained out of him. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… me and these guys? We’re going to stick it to the big bad, and maybe try to set things straight along the way. That’d be a whole lot easier if you’d help us.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Feet shuffled. Glances were exchanged. There was some murmuring, not a lot of which sounded positive.

“He killed Jork,” said Higgsy. His voice was faltering and high-pitched, and became even more so when all eyes turned to look his way. “He, um, in the real timeline. The one the lady put back in my head? I had a friend. His name was Jork, but…”

His voice cracked into a sob. Nana Joan rested a withered hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The theme to Cagney & Lacey reached its conclusion, then immediately started up with the upbeat sax intro again. Cal drew his hand across his throat, indicating for Kevin to turn it off.

“Geronimus Krone killed him,” said Alan, taking over. “His whole planet. In this, I don’t know, universe or whatever it is we’re in, Jork was never born.”

“He was our friend,” Higgsy managed. “And Krone killed him. And that’s… That’s not fair.”

Dan Deadman tilted his head in Higgsy’s direction. “Next time, let the kid do the talking,” he advised Cal. “Your speech was terrible. Seriously, I barely even followed it.”

Cal nodded. “Should’ve opened with the dead friend part,” he agreed. “Our friend was killed too, by the way. Just so everyone’s clear on that. There are two dead friends in the equation here. Ours was actually murdered by Krone.”

“So was ours,” said Alan.

Cal made a weighing motion with his hands. “I mean… Sure. Kind of. But not…”

He realized everyone else in the room was staring at him. Even Splurt. And probably Kevin.

“I’m not saying it’s any less tragic, I’m just saying… Forget it. Let’s just pretend it’s the same. Krone killed them both. That guy sucks.”

Deadman clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Your terrible speech aside, I’ve got nothing else going on for the rest of the day, and I am a sucker for a suicide mission.”

“So, what are you saying?” asked Cal.

“I’m saying we’re in.”

“Hoi! Speak for yerself, ye scrotum-faced sack o’ shoite,” Artur protested.

Cal and Deadman both looked down at him. “So… you’re not in?” Cal asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’m in alright. Sure, I fecking love me a good scrap. I’d just have liked to have been consulted in advance, before this ugly big bollocks started shooting his mouth off.”

He lowered his voice a little, and placed the back of his hand at the side of his mouth. “Between you an’ me, I’m also hoping to get better acquainted with a certain little lady who’s sitting not a million miles away from ye right now, if ye know what I’m saying?”

“In your dreams,” Loren told him.

“Oh, I feckin’ hope so,” Artur grinned. “Is that a promise? Because I’m a very light sleeper.”

“What does that even mean?” Loren asked.

Artur winked at her. “If ye play yer cards right, maybe ye’ll find out.”

Cal stepped in front of Loren before she could jump out of her seat and try to stamp on Artur. “So, that’s the Deadman crew,” he said. “Anyone else?”

“Us, obviously,” said Nana Joan. “For Jork.”

“For Jork,” Cal agreed.

“Useless as he was.”

“For Jork,” Cal whispered, trying to steer the sentiment back in the right direction. “Ronda, we know you’re in. Narp, you ungrateful freeloading fonk, you’re not getting any choice in the matter. So that’s everyone, right?”

“Looks like it,” Dan agreed.

Cal nodded, then stepped back. “OK, Space Team,” he said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the Space PowerPoint slide on the screen. “Let’s brainstorm the shizz out of this thing!”

* * *

Forty minutes later, Loren slouched forward in her chair, her head in her hands. Mech leaned against the wall, staring blankly up at the ceiling, very occasionally muttering something that involved a lot of swearing.

Splurt had vanished into the overhead pipes and vents a good half hour previously, and Cal had developed a facial tic that was getting progressively more violent.

On screen, the column marked ‘Bad Plans’ was almost full. There were a couple of suggestions in the ‘Good Plan’ column, but they were bigger picture ideas that Ollie and Higgsy had put forward—‘Defeat the bad guy’ and ‘Be nice’—and which Cal hadn’t had the heart to immediately consign to the bin.

“OK, so let’s try to drill down a little more,” Cal urged. “Throw some suggestions at me. Like I said, there’s no such thing as a bad idea.”

“And yet ye keeping putting our suggestions in the ‘Bad plan’ bit,” Artur pointed out.

“Because they’re terrible suggestions!” Cal said, completely contradicting himself. He pointed to the long list of ideas. “How is ‘let’s all go to the pub’ going to help us?”

“How is it going to hurt us?” Artur countered.

“And look at this,” Cal said, indicating another entry on the list. “Fly really fast. What is that?”

Alan shrugged. “I like flying really fast.”

“We’re not making a list of fonking hobbies,” Cal snapped. “This isn’t let’s all say things we enjoy. We’re trying to figure out how to kill the King of Space.”

Higgsy raised a hand.

“We could go to his house.”

Cal rubbed his temples. “OK. Do you know where his house is?”

Higgsy thought for a moment, then lowered his hand.

“No, that’s what I thought. We don’t know where he is. We don’t know where he’s going to be, or even where he has been.”

“I thought yer woman there could see the future?” Artur asked.

“The timeline is off-kilter,” Ronda explained. “Everything’s fragmented. I only see snatches.”

Artur grinned. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a snatch or two meself. One in particular, if ye know what I’m saying?”

He leaped aside as one of Loren’s boots bounced off the floor beside him.

“He’s building an outpost on Parloo,” Deadman said. “Krone, I mean. My whole block just got evicted and shut down. It’s probably what the big skull station is about.”

“They’re landing that thing on your street?” Cal asked.

Mech sighed. “No, man. That thing ain’t landing nowhere. It’s huge. Looked to me like it was just gonna orbit.”

“You think he’ll be there personally?”

Ronda shook her head. From the expression on her face, she was deep in concentration. “No. But… someone. An underling?”

“One of the Space Horsemen?” Cal guessed.

Ronda tilted her head, as if listening to something in the distance. “Yes. Wait, no...” Her brow furrowed. “It is under one of their control, I think, but they’re not there. Not in person.”

Mech looked to Deadman. “What’s on Parloo?”

“Nothing.”

“He’s right,” Artur confirmed. “It’s a total shoitehole of a place.”

“Then why would Krone want to build an outpost and put a big skull in orbit?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Dan. “I don’t know shizz about the guy.”

“Narp, can you find something out?” asked Cal. He mimed typing on a keyboard, which probably wasn’t strictly necessary.

“How am I supposed to do that? We’re too far out for me to access Headnet, and your ship’s databanks make zero sense.”

Cal tutted. “Can you at least try?”

“It’s a complete waste of… Wait. Does it mean I get to go back to my room and not have to listen to this?” Narp asked.

“Deal.”

Narp crisply about-turned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Cal clicked his fingers, trying to summon some enthusiasm. “This is positive, right? This is good. We’ve got a lead. Granted, we’ve flown thousands of miles away from it, but this is good. We’re getting somewhere.”

He stuck out a finger and mimed writing, “Investigate big space skull,” in the ‘Good plans’ column. The words appeared on screen for everyone to see. “Now, anything else?”

“I think you should listen to Kevin,” said Ronda.

Cal glanced at her, then raised his eyes briefly to the ceiling. “Kevin? Kevin isn’t saying anything.”

“He has a plan.”

Cal snorted. “Yeah. No. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.”

Ronda rocked back on her heels and tucked both hands behind her back. She smiled back at Cal, saying nothing.

“Kevin? Do you have a plan?”

“A plan, sir?” Kevin replied. “For what?”

“For how we can deal with Krone.”

“Oh no, sir. I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Cal crossed his arms and shot Ronda’s smile back with an extra helping of smugness. “See?”

“I mean, I did have one suggestion, but it’s probably not worth bothering about, to be quite frank.”

He kept holding Ronda’s gaze, but some of the confidence left Cal’s smile. “Oh really? Well, let’s hear it.”

“It’s probably easier to show you, sir. Might I borrow the screen?”

“Go ahead,” Cal said. He lowered his voice to a whisper and shot Loren a side-eyed smirk. “This I gotta see.”

He turned just as the screen changed. The columns of writing were replaced by a flowchart. It was the most ludicrously detailed PowerPoint slide—in space or otherwise—that Cal had ever seen, with hundreds of individual text boxes all feeding into one another.

Cal’s name was in there several times. So, too, were the names of everyone else, but all dotted around different parts of the chart. Each part of the screen seamlessly detailed a specific series of steps, with every step supported by a contingency plan in smaller boxes beneath it.

“What the fonk is this?” Cal asked.

“I know, sir. Just a silly flight of fancy. I shall delete it at once,” Kevin said.

“No!” cried Cal and Loren as the slide vanished, revealing Cal’s columns again.

“Bring it back!” Cal said.

“Please, sir, there’s no need to humor me. I have deleted it.”

“Can you undelete it?” Cal yelped.

“No, sir. I’m afraid not. It’s gone forever.”

Cal slumped into his seat. “Kevin, you fonking…”

Another, almost identical slide appeared on the viewscreen.

“However, I was able to put together an improved version.”

Cal stood up. There was a series of clanks as Mech stepped back to study the screen. The sickly sweet aroma of death filled the air around Cal as Dan and some of the others joined him.

“Could this… Could this actually work?” Cal asked.

There was faint, high-pitched whine from Mech as he adjusted the dial on his chest and diverted some of his power to his intellect. “There are numerous gaps in several steps, and some of it is essentially supposition,” he said.

Cal felt his shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“But… it’s basically sound,” Mech said. He nodded. “Yes. Yes, there’s a useable framework here. It’s a starting point, if nothing else.”

“Alright!” Cal cheered, brightening again. “We’ve got us a useable framework. Kevin, you’re a genius.”

“Am I, sir?”

“Yes, you are. And I will have strong words with anyone who says differently,” said Cal.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” Kevin said. “I’m genuinely quite moved.”

“No problem, buddy,” Cal told him. He gestured to the screen. “Can we get, like, a printout of this thing?”

“Of course, sir. There is one other thing I should probably mention,” Kevin said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

The ship rocked violently, hurling everyone through the air and slamming them against the side wall in a tangle of arms, legs and stumps.

“It would appear that we’re under attack.”

Nine

He was going to have to build another Pile. That was the only solution. The current Piles were too high now, the bones too unstable. If they collapsed on him, he might be stuck under there for weeks. Months. A lifetime. Maybe several.

Yes, a new Pile.

Or… a Pit? Would a Pit be better?

“Pit-pile-pit-pile,” he said, delighting in the way the syllables popped on his dry lips.

“No!”

The word exploded from him and he cowered at its sudden ferocity. Not a Pit. A Pile. He had made Piles for years. Decades. Neat, orderly Piles that rose like pyramids from the lifeless and barren ground.

“Too late to change it. Too late,” he whispered.

And so, it was decided. A Pile it was. He pointed to an empty expanse of land beyond the current line of bone mountains. “There,” he announced, as if claiming the spot. “Right there.”

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as that. First, he’d have to mark the space on his map, say all the magic words he’d made up and memorized during his lifetime of solitude, and then go to the bathroom. He had a long journey ahead of him, and while he’d never had much of an education, someone—he forgot who, but he thought he had probably loved them once—had taught him that it was important to go to the bathroom before embarking on any long trip.

“Long trip. Long, long trip,” he whispered.

But first thing first. The soft haze of the sunlight was dropping lower in the dust cloud. Night was approaching, and that meant only one thing.

It was time, once again, to kill himself.

* * *

Loren heaved herself into her chair and hurriedly fastened her belt. Mech deposited Cal into his seat, while Splurt formed a protective rubbery barrier around the other occupants of the bridge. The flight deck’s lights flashed a worrying shade of red, while a high-pitched alarm spat from the speaker system.

Smoke billowed from something important-looking over on the right-hand wall. Cal eyed it warily, half-expecting it to blow up.

“What the fonk hit us?” Mech demanded.

A deafening barrrraaaaaap vibrated the ship. “And what’s that noise?” Cal asked. “That’s not a good noise.”

“Kevin, the screen,” Loren barked.

“Hmm? Oh yes, sorry, ma’am,” the AI replied. His flowchart vanished, and was replaced by Cal’s two plan columns.

“Not that screen!”

“Right you are, ma’am.”

Cal’s columns vanished. In their place was a view of distant space and, much closer and getting closer still, something that looked like a lot of metal all scrunched together into a densely packed ball.

“Fonk. Brace, brace, brace!” Loren warned, rolling the Untitled into a desperate spinning dive.

She almost made it, too. Had she made her move just a moment earlier, the projectile would’ve sailed past the ship and been obliterated by its thrusters. Instead, it clipped one of the rear wings, and the Untitled’s controlled spin became substantially less so.

The view of space flipped and flopped, the stars spiraling like a kaleidoscope before Cal’s horrified eyes. He swallowed back his nausea and tried to point at another ship he glimpsed out there ahead of them somewhere, but by the time he’d raised his arm the Untitled had rolled away from it.

The barrrraaaaaaaping continued to resonate through the hull.

“What the feck is making that noise?” Artur hollered.

“We’re all going to die!” Higgsy screamed. He was about to scream it several more times for good measure, then probably pass out, but Nana Joan slapped him across the face, snapping him out of it.

“There appears to be something on the outside of the ship, sir,” said Kevin.

“I got it,” said Mech, his metal fingers flying across his control panel. A quarter of the screen stopped spiraling and became a fixed view of the hull. Something made up of lots of interlocking metal parts was attached to the hull. The whole thing flapped furiously as it worked on burrowing its way through the Untitled’s hull. It didn’t seem to have made it very far yet, but from the noise it was making, it was only a matter of time.

“What the hell is that thing?” Cal asked. He tilted his head. “It looks kind of like a fish.”

Loren, who had been battling furiously against the ship’s spin, finally managed to counteract it and bring them onto a more even keel. The Currently Untitled’s nose was pointing up at the underside of another ship. It was twice, maybe three times the size of the Untitled, and there was something about it that Cal found familiar. He hadn’t seen this exact type of ship before, he didn’t think, but something similar.

“Who is that?” Cal asked, shouting to make himself heard over the vibrations. “Is it Krone? Has Krone found us?”

“That would actually be pretty useful,” said Loren. “Unless he kills us all, obviously. Then it wouldn’t.”

“We got an incoming transmission,” said Mech. He had readjusted his dial so he was better placed to start swinging his fists, should the need arise. “What do you want me to do?”

Cal chewed his lip. “Should we let it go to voicemail and see if they leave a message?”

Loren glanced in the direction of the drilling sound. “They already left us a message.”

“Fair point,” Cal said. He sat up in his chair, smoothed down his shirt, checked his breath by blowing into his hand and smelling it, then nodded. “Put them on screen.”

Cal leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers together in an attempt to look suitably authoritative. The effect was hampered somewhat when an image of their attacker appeared suddenly on screen, and one of Cal’s elbows slipped off the armrest in fright.

“Jesus. What is that thing?” he asked. “I mean… Fonk me. Was there an explosion at the ugly factory? That thing is… Holy shizz.”

“You know it can hear you, right?” said Loren.

Cal clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I did not.”

He smiled broadly at the thing. Like its ship, there was something familiar, and yet not familiar, about it. “Hey, uh, you. Just so you know, I wasn’t being serious there. You know, about the ugly factory thing. I’m sure where you come from, you’re a big hit with the ladies. Or the gentlemen. Or, whatever you’re into. Both. That’s your call. We will not judge. Each to their own, that’s what we say.”

He caught the inquisitive look from Loren and the downright contemptuous glare from Mech, and readjusted himself.

“Anyway, I’m not sure if you noticed, but you shot us. That is not cool.” He pointed to the ceiling. “But if you call off whatever the fonk this thing is, we’ll call it quits and say no more about it. What do you say?”

The thing’s voice rumbled from the speakers. “Hun-gry,” it slurred.

At least, that’s what Cal guessed it had said. Its abundance of large, curved teeth—most of which appeared to have been inserted entirely at random in and around its mouth—were obviously proving to be something of a speech impediment.

It was a pretty decent evolutionary trade-off, Cal thought. Looking at this fonker, the ability to hold clear conversations probably came a distant second to the ability to bite people’s faces off.

“Huuungry,” it said again, accompanying the word with a generous spray of yellow saliva that spattered across his ship’s camera. The spots refracted the light strangely, and one of the thing’s eyes appeared to bulge as it leaned closer. “You food?”

Cal shifted in his seat. “Are you asking if we have food, or if we are food?”

“You food!” the thing spat, and something about the way the rough gray skin of its face twisted up jolted Cal’s memory.

“Uh, OK. We’ll need a minute to discuss,” Cal said. “Hold please.”

He waited until Mech had muted the comms before revealing what he’d figured out.

“Holy shizz, I know what that thing is,” he said. “It’s a Symmorium.”

Mech and Loren both studied the thing on screen. It swayed slightly, it’s perfectly black eyes glaring hatred down the lens of the camera.

When Cal had first been brought into space by the Zertex Corporation, he’d been told the Symmorium were a cruel and animalistic species. Their shark-like appearance and gruff demeanor had helped to convince him, too, at least at first.

He’d quickly come to realize, though, that the Symmorium were an honorable, noble, and generally decent bunch of folks, and nothing like the monsters they’d been portrayed as.

This one, however, seemed to be fully embracing the whole ‘animalistic savage’ thing. While it resembled the other Symmorium Cal had met, this one must have climbed along a very different branch of the family tree at some point in the past.

It was hard to judge scale on the screen, but it looked bigger than the other Symmorium. Taller and broader, with a neck that somehow managed to be a full one-and-a-half times wider than its head without looking ridiculous.

All Symmorium had large teeth, but they were carefully arranged in regimented rows and, as far as Cal had been able to tell, were usually found inside their mouths. This thing looked like someone had blasted it in the face with a shotgun, then shoved an incisor in every hole. Fangs jutted up and down from its upper and lower jaws, stabbed out from its battle-scarred snout, and rose like mountain ranges through the flesh of both cheeks.

They made the thing look vaguely prehistoric. And, Cal could only assume, probably also made shaving a fonking nightmare.

“What the hell happened to this guy?” Cal wondered. “Or… is it a guy? Christ, I hope that’s a guy, because if it isn’t, I do not want to meet her boyfriend.”

From the back of the room, Ollie voiced a concern currently shared by many of those around her. “Uh, that noise is getting louder.”

“Kevin, how long until that thing eats through the hull?” Loren asked.

“Oh, it’ll be some time, ma’am.”

“I know it’ll be some time. Approximately how much time is what I’d like to know,” Loren pressed.

“It’ll be a while yet,” Kevin sort of clarified. “A good while.”

“So, you don’t know?” said Loren.

“That would be another way of putting it, ma’am, yes.”

On screen, the mutant Symmorium was growing visibly impatient. He paced back and forth in front of the camera, hands that looked capable of shattering small moons punching and grasping at thin air.

“How many of them are on that ship?” Cal asked.

Mech tapped on the curved control panel in front of him. “Just him.”

“Just him? On that whole ship, there’s just that one guy?” asked Cal. “Guess he must like a lot of legroom.”

“So, are ye going to shoot this bastard or what?” asked Artur.

“I mean… we probably should,” said Cal. “What’s the alternative? He eats us?”

“If this goes to a vote, I vote on whatever option involves not being eaten,” said Alan.

Higgsy immediately raised his hand in agreement. Ollie, thinking that looked like fun, joined in.

“Besides, look at him,” said Cal. “I’d imagine the Symmorium will thank us for taking him out.”

“There are no Symmorium,” said Ronda. “Not as you knew them, anyway.”

Cal turned in his chair. “Huh?” he said, but realized it was too quiet to be heard above the sound of drilling. “There’s no Symmorium?” he asked, more loudly.

“Krone killed the Sentience,” Ronda explained. “It was what civilized their species, helped them work together. Without it, they reverted to that thing. All of them.”

“Shizz. Seriously?”

“Nine minutes,” Kevin announced.

Cal, Loren, and pretty much everyone else, looked up.

“What?” asked Loren.

“Until it gets through the hull. Nine minutes. I figured it out. Turns out, I have a whole quoontaflop of processing power available for just this sort of calculation. Who knew? I also discovered a weather app, a calendar, and a rather fun little game involving a snake.”

Cal regarded the screen. It was mostly dark now, as the Symmorium was attempting to gnaw through its camera.

“It’s a big ship. We can probably beat it, but if it takes us more than nine minutes, we’re screwed,” Cal reasoned. “I say we just warp the fonk out of here and hope the fish thing falls off on the way.”

“And if it don’t?” asked Mech.

Cal sucked his in his bottom lip as he thought. “Then someone will have to go out and clear it off. Doesn’t matter who. Although, ideally, they’d be able to breathe in space. And have magnetic feet. And be called Mech.”

Loren’s fingers flew across her controls. “Locking in a short jump on full warp,” she said. “I’ll take us somewhere a couple of minutes away, so we have time to get out and clear it off manually if we have to.”

Cal groaned. Full warp was the worst warp of all. Not only did it inevitably lead to a full-blown projectile vomiting situation, it also usually gave him a headache, pressed in on his eyeballs, and forced his testicles up into his lower abdomen.

He closed his eyes and cupped both hands protectively over his crotch in anticipation. “OK, do it!” he said. “Splurt, keep everyone safe back there, buddy. This could get rough.”

“Here goes!” Loren announced, cranking the warp engines up to maximum power.

On screen, the stars hiccupped. The Untitled burped. Cal’s testes remained utterly unmoved.

“Was that it?” asked Ollie. “That wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

“We ain’t moving,” Mech pointed out.

“I can see that!” Loren replied, frantically double-checking the screens of her control panel.

“My point is, we should be moving,” Mech added.

“I know!”

“But we ain’t.”

Cal pointed to the screen. “Uh, guys. Are you seeing this?”

Around the Symmorium vessel, several near-identical ships were dropping out of warp speed. Leaping out of his seat, Cal crossed to Mizette’s chair and studied the solitary display built into her armrest. It showed dozens of little red dots appearing around a central blue triangle, completely encircling it.

“Yeah, we’ve got company,” Cal confirmed.

“They’re jamming the warp somehow,” Loren said. The signal to the warp disk is being looped back on itself.”

“Meaning?” asked Cal.

“Meaning we can’t go anywhere.”

“Fonk. OK, then we fight,” said Cal.

“Fight them?” Mech spat. “You realize how many of those motherfonkers are out there?”

“I do,” said Cal, jumping into his own chair. “But unless you’ve got another plan hidden up your space sleeves, I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“We can’t,” said Loren.

Cal strapped himself in. “Well, we have to.”

“No, I mean we physically can’t.” Loren flicked a switch back and forth on her console. “Weapons systems are jammed, too. They’re overriding everything.”

As if to confirm this, several windows opened on the viewscreen, each one displaying a live feed from a different Symmorium ship. It was immediately apparent that Ronda had been right. Each Symmorium was larger and more monstrous than the one before. Some wore the filthy remnants of the Symmorium fleet uniform, while others appeared to be completely naked. One gnawed furiously on a bone that had long-since been picked completely clean.

“Hunnngry,” hissed one.

“Huuuuuuun-gry,” added another.

In fact, they all seemed to be broadly share that same sentiment. Each and every one of them was claiming to be hungry. Even the one with the bone.

Especially the one with the bone, in fact.

And, all the while, the baraaaaaaaaaap of the fish-shaped drill rattled insistently through the ship.

“Man, I fonking hate space,” Cal muttered. He looked back over his shoulder at the others. “You’d be amazed how often this sort of thing happens out here. Seriously, if it isn’t shark monsters, it’s dragon-spiders or space holes or God knows what else.”

“How have you lasted this long?” asked Deadman.

“Because we always come up with some sort of clever plan,” said Cal. He swiveled around to Mech and Loren. “Usually, right about now.”

He grinned at them, expectantly.

“I got nothing,” said Mech.

Loren shook her head. “Me neither. I have basic steering, minimal thrust, and not a lot else.”

“There is some good news is, sir,” Kevin announced. “The calendar’s still working, and I’ve just set a new personal best on the snake game.”

“Great job, Kevin,” Cal sighed. He turned to face the back of the ship again. “I have to say, Ronda—and don’t take this the wrong way—but I kind of thought having a magic space nun on board would help us avoid ending up in situations like this one.”

Ronda smiled back at him. Unlike most of the other faces on the bridge, hers was calm and untroubled. “Like I said, the mixed-up timelines aren’t doing me any favors. But I am able to see a few things.”

She pointed to the screen. “That, for example.”

Cal turned in time to see one of the comm windows go dark as a Symmorium ships exploded.

No, it didn’t explode. There was no one big moment of detonation. Instead, it appeared to shake itself apart, components flying off it like drops of water off a wet dog.

The entire process, from ship to rapidly widening debris field, took less than five seconds. The entire crew of the Untitled—with the exception of Alan and Artur, who couldn’t see over Splurt—watched as all the many pieces, including a squirming Symmorium, floated off into space.

Two other comm channels were cut off. Two more ships became their component pieces. The other Symmorium began to bellow and scream at their cameras, hurling blame at the Untitled.

“Yeah, you’re damn right it’s us!” Cal shouted back. He leaned closer to Loren. “Is this us?”

“Not that I know of.”

A thought struck Cal. He turned in his chair. “Any of you guys doing this?” he asked, as the other comm windows all blinked out. He clicked his fingers a few times, searching for the name. “Uh… Ollie?”

Ollie looked at the backs of her hands, then turned them over and checked the fronts. She shook her head. “It isn’t me.”

“Anyone else?” Cal asked.

Nobody volunteered themselves to take credit for it.

“Then who the fonk is doing it?” asked Cal, turning back to the front. As the last Symmorium ship broke up, an enormous battlecruiser passed above the Untitled, appearing suddenly at the top of the screen and gliding silently into the field of corpses and ship debris.

“Oh, it was totally the guy in the Star Destroyer,” Cal decided. “That’s where my money’s going.”

“Controls are still blocked,” Loren said. “We can’t go anywhere.”

“Gotta be the drill thing,” Mech concluded. “We need to get rid of it.”

Cal gestured to the screen. “Maybe these guys can help. I mean, it looks like they’re on our side, right?”

“They’re calling us,” Mech announced.

“Great! Pick up, and let’s all try to look grateful. Happy faces. Feel free to bow. These guys did just save our lives.”

“I can’t. Controls are still jammed.”

Cal groaned. “Oh great. Well, now we’re just going to look rude.”

“Uh, guys,” said Loren. “Isn’t that…?”

On screen, the battlecruiser was still gliding past. There was a shape molded into the part of the underside currently rolling on by, like some sort of enormous corporate logo.

It was a skull.

“Isn’t that the same as the space station back at Parloo?” Loren asked.

Cal shifted in his seat. “I mean, it’s a skull. That doesn’t mean it’s the same skull. Is it similar? Yes. Yes, it is. But let’s not jump to conclusions. These people saved us. They could still be the good guys.”

“Even if it ain’t the same one, since when have the good guys ever built gigantic motherfonking skulls on their ships?” asked Mech.

Cal kept watching the screen, his lips moving silently. “Give me a minute. There’s bound to be one.” He clicked his fingers. “Got it. The Punisher.”

“Who the hell is the Punisher?” asked Mech.

“He was a superhero. Except he didn’t have superpowers. He just had guns. And he didn’t have a spaceship, but he wore a big skull on his chest. That was kind of his emblem.”

“And what did he do?”

“He murdered people, mostly,” said Cal. “And occasionally tortured them. But, you know, bad people.”

Loren raised an eyebrow. “Who decided they were bad people?”

Cal shrugged. “I guess he did. And, you know, now that I say it out loud, he was blatantly a monster. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed that this isn’t his ship. Because if it is, we’re totally fonked.”

“Uh, we’re about to find out,” said Loren. On screen, the position of the stars shifted as the Untitled crept toward the skull emblem’s mile-wide mouth. “It’s pulling us inside.”

Ten

Mizette ducked a scything vine-swipe, leapt over another, then decapitated the final flesh-eating plant with two swift swipes of her claws.

She panted, her chest heaving as she surveyed the damage around her. The battle had carved through the jungle, uprooting foliage and toppling trees. A dozen of the things had surrounded her at one point, but although it had taken her almost a full hour, she’d finally nipped them all in the bud. And they hadn’t managed to get in a single scratch.

Craning her neck, she looked up at the clifftop thirty feet above her, where Graxan watched on. “Happy now?” she said, but her father’s expression suggested he was far from it.

“If you are to defeat the Unshuk, you must learn to pay more attention,” he told her.

The head of the closest plant fell open, ejecting a cloud of spores that made straight for Mizette and vanished up both her nostrils.

“So lame,” she managed to mumble, before her head went light, the world flipped over, and she drowned in an ocean of liquid black.

* * *

Cal and Mech stood at the rear of the Untitled, close to the hatch. There had been no further attempts at communication since they’d been dragged inside the skull-ship, and as soon as it had fallen under the effects of the larger ship’s artificial gravity, the fish-drill had fallen off. The inside of the Untitled had been silent ever since, aside from the odd anxious sob from Higgsy, and the occasional smutty comment from Artur.

No one had made any attempt to come aboard, and after twenty minutes or so of waiting for something to happen, Cal had decided to take matters into his own hands. Although, he was also bringing Mech and Splurt’s hands with him, just to be on the safe side.

Splurt, as usual, was going to be Cal’s ace in the hole. He had taken the form of Cal’s favorite leather jacket, right down to the scuffs on the elbows and the banoffee pie stain on the interior lining that Cal had insisted looked exactly like the state of Texas, only upside-down. And presumably smaller.

“You sure you’re going to be OK?” asked Loren, appearing beside them. “We don’t know what’s waiting out there.”

That was true. There had been a brief blip from the sensors once the drilly-fish had fallen off, but they had then immediately been suppressed by some other signal, which Kevin had identified as coming from the skull-ship.

Technically, he’d identified it as ‘probably’ coming from the skull-ship, but since there was nobody else around who could be doing it, Cal hadn’t seen much pointing in pressing for a more concrete answer.

“We'll be fine,” Cal said. “He’s made of metal, I can’t die, and Splurt’s Splurt.” He glanced past her into the ship. “It’s you guys I’m worried about. I know you can handle yourself, but some of the others…”

“They can all handle themselves, too,” said Loren. “That’s why you had us bring them all together.”

Cal nodded. “True. But tell Deadman to put some arms on. He might need them. You know, for fighting, not in a general picking things up sense. Although, I’m sure he needs them for that, too.”

“I will,” said Loren. She shuffled awkwardly for a moment, then took a step closer to Cal and brushed her fingers against his upper arm. “And… just… You be careful, OK?”

Mech leaned between them. “I’m gonna go right ahead and take that as being addressed to both of us,” he said. Cal’s jacket sprouted eyes, which glared accusingly at the cyborg. “Alright, alright. To all three of us.”

Loren swept a stray strand of hair back over her ear. “Yes. Of course. That’s what I meant.” She cleared her throat. “All of you be careful. Come back in one piece. I mean three pieces. I mean, each in your individual…”

“We get it. And we will,” said Cal. He winked at her. “That’s a Cal Carver guarantee.”

The door to Narp’s cabin swished open beside them. Narp let out a strangled yelp of fright when he saw them all gathered there.

“Why are you standing outside my room?” he asked. “Were you… Were you listening to me?”

“What? No!” said Loren. “Why? What were you doing?”

“Nothing!”

“We don’t have to listen, because Kevin records everything,” Cal said. He opened his eyes wide, staring very deliberately at Narp. “Everything.”

Narp shrugged. “It’s fine. I turned the camera off in here,” he said.

“Wait, you can do that?” asked Cal. “Can you turn it off in my room? And in the bathroom? Especially the bathroom.”

“For security reasons, sir, I recommend you don’t,” Kevin intoned.

“Security reasons? What possible security reasons could there be for watching me take a dump?” Cal asked.

“I don’t watch you ‘take a dump,’ sir,” said Kevin, sounding a little offended.

“Oh. Well… good.”

“I observe.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” said Cal. “Narp, take care of that for me, would you?”

Narp shrugged. “Maybe. If you take care of this.”

He held out a device that was roughly the size and shape of a wine cork, only with some twiddly, spacey-looking bits attached to one end.

“What is this?” Cal asked.

“We’re on a ship,” Narp pointed out.

“We noticed.”

“Well, if you find a connection point and plug that in, I can make a copy of its databanks. Depending on how it’s set up, I might even be able to ping Headnet via its stream and piggyback a downstream connection to—”

Cal held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, Geek Stuff, you don’t need to draw us a diagram.” He took the offered device. “Plug the high-tech doodah into the computer thingy. Got it. You can count on me,” he said, then he immediately passed the thing to Mech, in the hope that he could figure out what to do with it.

“All set, big guy?”

“Let’s go find out what we got ourselves into this time,” Mech said.

Narp retreated into his room. Cal waited for Loren to backtrack along the corridor before nodding at her and then lowering the landing ramp.

From the brief snippet of sensor information they’d glimpsed, they’d been able to determine that the environment aboard the skull-ship was tolerable. That was how Kevin had described it. ‘Tolerable.’ This didn’t exactly fill Cal with enthusiasm, but it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been ‘barely tolerable,’ for example. Or ‘intolerable.’ Or, simply, ‘Fonk, no.’ Compared to those alternatives, ‘tolerable’ was borderline ‘not that bad.’

It smelled like burnt eggs. That was the first thing Cal noticed as the hatch seal disengaged and the bigger ship’s air rolled in. Cal shivered, even through his Splurt jacket. The temperature inside the skull-ship was several degrees lower than aboard the Currently Untitled, and Cal’s skin goosepimpled as he followed Mech down the ramp and into a deserted docking bay.

“No welcoming committee,” Cal noted. “Guess they’re annoyed at us for not taking their call.”

“Hm. Maybe,” said Mech, frowning as he consulted the scanners in his arm. The display offered little in the way of information, even after he thumped it a couple of times with the palm of the other hand. “Whatever they’re jamming the ship with, it’s doing a number on me, too.”

“You getting anything?”

Mech consulted his arm again. “Yeah, I’m getting something,” he said. His eyes darted around the empty hangar. “A bad motherfonking feeling.”

“Have to admit, I’m not getting a case of the happy joy-joys here, either,” Cal agreed. “I say we find a computer thingy to plug Narp’s doodah into, then figure out a way to release the Untitled so we can get out of here. Even though this thing helped us out with our mutant Symmorium problem, it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Mech turned Narp’s device over in his hand as the landing ramp retracted behind them. “We need to find some kind of terminal. Looks like it’ll adapt to fit most connections.”

“Is that one?” asked Cal, pointing across the stadium-sized room to the closest wall.

“That’s a storage crate,” said Mech.

“Oh. OK. And that?”

“Also a storage crate.”

“Could they have terminals inside?”

“How the hell should I know? Maybe,” Mech admitted.

“Yes! Go me!” Cal cried. His voice reverberated around the docking area.

“Do we have the eight hours we’d need for me to hardwire one of them into the ship’s systems?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then it don’t matter what the fonk’s inside them,” Mech said. “Let’s go find one that’s already plugged in.”

“Fine. You’re the expert. Let’s do that,” Cal said.

There were four doors leading off from the hangar. Two of them were more or less human-sized, while the others looked like loading doors designed for driving trucks through. And big trucks at that.

Cal pointed at them in turn. “Eeny, meeny, miny…”

As he turned to it, the fourth door—one of the larger ones—rolled upward, revealing a starkly lit corridor beyond. A series of pulsing red lights illuminated on the floor, starting right at their feet and leading all the way to the open doorway.

Cal looked up at Mech. “Does this make you more worried than you were a moment ago, or less?”

“More,” said Mech. “Way fonking more.”

“Just checking. Me too,” Cal agreed. He gestured for Mech to go ahead. “Still, lead the way.”

“Why should I lead the way?” Mech asked.

“Uh, because you’re built like a tank.”

“So? You heal in seconds.”

“But it still hurts!” Cal pointed out. “Besides, it wore off once before. It might happen again.”

“You also got Splurt.”

“Which is supposed to be a secret,” Cal hissed. He shook his head and tutted. “Fine. We’ll go side by side. Will that make you happy?”

Mech scowled and flicked his eyes around the hangar. “I’ll be happy when we get the fonk off this ship,” he said.

“I know,” said Cal. He started to walk toward the open door, but slowly so he could make sure Mech was joining him. “Want me to hold your hand?” he asked, once the cyborg had fallen into step.

“What? No.”

They walked together, Cal’s legs moving twice as fast to make up for Mech’s giant steps.

“We could link arms. You know, Wizard of Oz style?”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

“Hey! We might even get you a heart.”

“Know what? I ain’t even listening.”

“But you know the twist?” Cal asked. He dropped his voice to an awestruck whisper. “It’ll turn out you had one this whole time!”

Mech shook his head and trudged onward. “Ain’t even fonking listening.”

* * *

Mizette’s next few rebirths happened in rapid succession and followed some really quite brutal lessons on being ready for anything. She had lost track of the number of times she had ‘reset’ back to her starting point now. Ten, anyway, although fifteen wouldn’t have surprised her.

Her latest failure had been particularly unpleasant, and as she reappeared in that same familiar just-dead darkness, she immediately got ready to move.

When her father tried to cleave her skull open with the hatchet this time, Miz dodged, grabbed his wrist, twisted to avoid the knife she knew was coming, then wrenched both weapons out of his hands.

She caught the glass ball he hurled at the ground before it was able to smash and release its toxic contents, then jumped the scything low-level blade that had removed her feet at the ankles last time. She counted down – three, two, one – then jumped the blade again on the backswing that had previously cleaved her in two. Lengthways.

Graxan’s walking stick pressed into her back between her shoulder blades. “You left yourself open,” he told her. “I could end you, right now.”

Miz spun, throwing out an arm. The stick clattered off into the darkness. “You wish, old man,” she said. “I’m so over all these stupid traps, or whatever. Just point me to the Unshuk and I’ll go fight it.”

“No. You are not ready. Not yet,” Graxan told her.

“I totally am. Just tell me where it is, and I’ll show you.”

Graxan shook his head. “Not yet. You need more training. I won’t let you lose, as I did.”

Miz sighed and rolled her eyes. “How much more?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Graxan. “A year, maybe. Perhaps two.”

“Two years?!”

“Depending on if you stop being so stubborn and actually listen to what I teach you.”

Miz snorted. “Teach me? All you’ve done is stab me or poison me or blow me up. And, like, you haven’t even told me what the Unshuk even is yet.”

She looked her father up and down. “And if it beat you, how come you’re even still here?”

“All in good time,” Graxan told her.

“Did you even fight it? Or have you hidden from it this whole time? Is it even real?” she wondered, then she cupped her clawed hands around her mouth and shouted into the gloom. “Unshuk. Hey, Unshuk? Come fight me, you bedge.”

“Mizette! Stop!” Graxan hissed. “It can hear you.”

“Good. That’s the whole point. Come get me, you fonk!”

Miz flicked her ears up and swiveled them around. After a few moments, she shrugged. “Nothing. If it’s here—if it even exists—then it’s not coming.”

“It’s real, alright,” said Graxan, his voice flat. “Trust me. It’s here. I will show you the Unshuk, but not until you are ready. Give me six months. Nine, tops.”

“Yeah, no,” said Miz, but she failed to see the second knife in her father’s hand until the blade was buried in her throat. “Lk, thnks a bnch,” she managed to gargle, then the whole cycle began once again.

Eleven

Cal and Mech followed the lights through a labyrinth of long corridors. At first, they’d kept quiet, expecting to be ambushed as soon as they turned the next corner, but as the minutes had passed, they’d become less concerned by the idea. In fact, Cal would quite enjoy being ambushed now, as the whole ‘walking down corridors’ thing was starting to feel pretty old.

“You know what this reminds me of?” asked Cal.

“No. What?” Mech grunted.

“That last corridor. And the five before that,” said Cal. He indicated the endlessly repeating floor pattern and the repeating mesh panels on the walls. “I mean, it’s like we’re in an episode of Scooby-Doo and they’re just looping the background. Would it hurt them to put some pictures up? Or maybe a couple of nice lamps?”

“Scooby-Doo?” said Mech, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the dog thing, right?”

Cal let out a little yelp of delight. “Yes! That’s the dog thing. How do you know that?”

“Because you’ve spoken about it a hundred fonking times,” said Mech. “And Splurt turned into it back on the clown-planet.”

“Splurt turned into him,” Cal corrected. “Scoob is not an it. Please, show a little respect.”

They trudged on for a while in silence. Or as silent as a tank-like cyborg with metal feet could be.

“Is that a terminal?” Cal asked, pointing to another of the wall panels. It looked identical to every other one they’d passed.

“No.”

Cal clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Damn. Well, how will I know when I see one?”

“Because you’ll see me inserting this motherfonking thing into it,” Mech said, holding up Narp’s device. “Until then, assume that whatever random thing you’re pointing at ain’t a terminal. OK?”

“Jesus. OK. I’m just trying to help,” said Cal. He pointed at another panel. “That’s one, right?”

Mech’s metal jaw snapped open, but Cal raised both hands in surrender before he could speak.

“Kidding. I’m kidding. Relax. I know that’s not a terminal,” he said. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “It isn’t, is it?”

“No!”

“Gotcha. I thought so, just wanted to make…”

The overhead lights in the corridor went out, leaving only the dull red glow from the circles on the floor.

Cal and Mech both stopped. “Uh… this can’t be good, can it?” Cal whispered.

The floor lights behind and ahead of them began to blink off one by one, closing in until only three or four remained illuminated on either side of them.

“Any idea what’s happening?” asked Cal.

Mech’s neck whirred as he shook his head. “No, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and take a guess at ‘nothing we want to be happening.’”

From somewhere, although Cal couldn’t say where, came the sound of someone whistling. It was low and flat, and wasn’t a tune Cal recognized, yet something about it made his skin try to crawl off his flesh.

“I think you could be onto something,” Cal agreed. He turned so he and Mech were standing back-to-back, facing in opposite directions along the corridor. “Stay alert,” he said. “If you see anything coming, scream hysterically, because that’s what I’ll be doing.”

“Nothing yet,” said Mech, staring into the darkness beyond the red glow’s edge. “Anything your side?”

“Nothing so far,” said Cal. “It might just be a technical fault,” he reasoned, although he didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe we’re overreacting.”

There was a clank from beneath them. The floor groaned.

“Or, you know, maybe not,” Cal managed, before the floor dropped away and they tumbled into darkness.

The falling part was nerve-wracking, but otherwise fine. It lasted only a few seconds, and Cal’s screaming and sobbing made it pass pretty quickly. The landing part was less enjoyable. Not only did Cal hit the floor hard, he hit it at an awkward angle that made him twist his ankle.

And then, to make matters worse, a cyborg landed on him, fracturing several bones and rupturing his spleen.

“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Cal said, because formulating actual words was proving tricky, what with all the searing pain.

“Shizz. Sorry, man,” said Mech, rolling off him.

Cal inhaled sharply, replenishing the breath that had been ejected through his nose and mouth when Mech had crunched down on him. Mech was heavier than he looked, and considering how he looked, this was really saying something. Had it not been for Splurt, it wouldn’t just have been the air in Cal’s lungs that had exploded out of him, but the lungs themselves.

With some difficulty, he flopped over onto his back. He could feel his bones knitting himself back together, and various internal organs readjusting themselves into their original positions.

The hole they’d fallen through was presumably still somewhere above him, but all the lights had gone out now, and wherever they had landed was shrouded in darkness.

“Please not another corridor, please not another corridor,” he whispered.

Somewhere close by, someone whistled that flat, unfamiliar tune.

Ignoring the pain that it brought, Cal grabbed onto Mech and heaved himself to his feet. The moment he was upright, lights illuminated all along the circular room’s single continuous wall, picking out several banks of controls, a panoramic viewscreen, and the most dangerous man in the galaxy.

Geronimus Krone waved to them as he built to the tuneless crescendo of his whistling. He looked older than he had when they’d last seen him, although that was hardly surprising. He was older, although it was hard to tell just how much.

He was as small and unassuming as before, but now with the additional artifacts of age—graying hair, a slight stoop, and an elasticated waistband on his pants that stretched around the bulge of his paunch.

Mech snapped up both arms, blasters ready to fire. Cal had neglected to bring a gun, so slipped a hand inside his jacket roughly where a shoulder holster would go, and hoped the villain bought it.

“Hello,” said Krone.

“Don’t ‘hello’ us, you piece of shizz,” Cal warned him.

Krone blinked behind the thick lenses of his goggle-like glasses. “Would you prefer ‘hi?’” he asked.

“No! That’s worse,” said Cal. “I mean, I can’t explain why, exactly, but it’s worse. I’d prefer you to get down on your knees with your hands behind your head. Or kill yourself. Either of those works.”

“I knew you’d come,” said Krone, tucking his hands behind his back.

“Because you pulled us in with a fonking tractor beam,” Mech growled.

“Yes. Precisely that,” said Krone. He raised an eyebrow. “How is she, by the way? Your… what? Pet? Dead, one presumes?”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. “Mech?”

“Yeah?”

“Shoot this fonk.”

“My pleasure.”

Mech roared as he opened fire. Bolts of fiery energy erupted from both forearms, screamed across the room, then exploded against their target in a series of blinding light flashes.

The onslaught continued for several seconds as Mech unleashed his full fury on the villain, blasting him with bolt after bolt of supercharged heat.

When it was all over, Krone’s glasses were a little squint. He shot Mech a disapproving look as he readjusted them.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked, then he thrust a hand forward and Mech sailed backward across the room. He slammed into a telephone box-sized control terminal, which immediately crumpled around him.

Cal realized he was still holding his imaginary gun. He decided to leave it holstered for the moment.

“You OK there, big guy?” he asked.

“Motherfonker!” Mech spat.

Cal shrugged. “He’s OK.”

“I have no interest in him. Not really,” Krone said, stepping in closer to Cal. Even though Cal had the distinct height advantage, something about the man screamed danger. And not just the fact that he’d tossed Mech away with a wave of his arm, although that certainly didn’t hurt his case.

“I mean, he did trap me in the center of a planet for all those years, but… meh. I don’t hold a grudge,” Krone continued. He removed his goggles, breathed on them, then wiped them on the sleeve of his shirt. “Bygones, right? Just like your pet.”

“Miz ain’t no fonking bygone,” Cal said.

Krone smiled at him for a while, then tapped a finger on the end of Cal’s nose and said, “Boop.”

Cal grabbed Krone by his skinny wrist, but the villain’s arm was like an iron bar.

“I wouldn’t,” Krone said. He raised a finger and Cal was sent stumbling back. “See, I don’t want to hurt you. There’s no point to that now. I already took my revenge on you, Carver. Years ago. It was the first thing I did when we finally emerged from the vortex.”

Cal frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Krone mimed placing his hands on a steering wheel and made an engine noise from the corner of his mouth. He tapped an imaginary horn with a high-pitched “Beep! Beep!”

Cal watched, his heart thudding against the inside of his chest as Krone pretended to lose control of the vehicle, accompanied by a self-styled soundtrack of screeching brakes and grinding metal.

“N-no,” Cal whispered. He threw himself at Krone, but the villain stepped aside and Cal’s own momentum sent him tumbling to the floor.

“Come, come now, Carver,” Krone said. His lips pursed tightly together, like he was stifling a laugh. “I’m the most dangerous and-or evil man in the galaxy, depending on who you ask. Do you really think I’d be so uncreative as to kill your family in a car accident? That was a joke. It was witty banter. That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Please. This isn’t amateur hour. You’ve got to think bigger.”

Cal’s breath came in shaky gulps as he pulled himself back to his feet. He felt the jacket shift on his back, but willed Splurt not to move. Not now. Not yet.

“What did you do?” Cal demanded.

Krone smiled wistfully. “You’ll see,” he said. “And I assure you, it will be the last thing you do see.”

Mech appeared behind the villain, and swung a fist down at him in an overhead smash. Before it could connect another invisible force took Mech’s leg out from beneath him, flipping him upside-down in the air, then dropping him onto his head.

“Please, don’t do that,” Krone advised. “We’re having a conversation here. There’s no need for violence.” He shrugged. “Besides, what would be the point? I’m already dying.”

“Aw, no. Seriously?” groaned Cal, faking sympathy. “I totally didn’t mean that, by the way. I hope you rot in Space Hell, you shizznod.”

“I almost certainly will,” Krone agreed. He leaned over the fallen Cal and lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “You see, I’ve been a very naughty boy.”

He winked, then straightened. “Most species, they have a legend about me, you know? Galaxy-wide, I mean. Perhaps further. They speak of a figure who shall fall, then return to usher in their final days. He—or she, in some instances—shall be accompanied by four others. Together, with those four, he shall bring an end to all things. The Apocalypse. Ragnarok. Judgment Day. Those are all familiar to you, yes?”

Krone gestured to Mech, who was in the process of getting back to his feet. “It’s the Doomsaying on your world, I believe. There are many names. The Great Reckoning. The Coming of Skalgorth. The Donosh refer to it simply as ‘The Mounting.’ They believe a great dragon-like beast shall hatch from within their world, then violently copulate with what’s left until there’s nothing left at all.”

He shrugged. “The details vary, but the core of it is the same. One individual. Four companions. The end of all things.”

Krone let that hang there in the air for a moment. “My time has almost come. The centuries spent lost in time have taken their toll. I am dying. But I am going out with a bang. A big bang. Or… technically the opposite of one, I suppose.”

“What are you going to do?” Cal demanded.

“Me? Nothing, really. It has already been done. I’m just going to watch it unfold, and enjoy those last few moments,” Krone said. “I recall a legend about me—the real me, I mean—that claimed I am immortal. That I will live until the universe itself comes to an end.”

He smiled, just a little. “They were half right.”

“What do you mean it’s already been done? What’s been done? What’s going to happen?” Cal asked.

“As I explained, the end of everything.”

“But how?”

Krone snorted. “You’ll see,” he said. He turned to Mech. “Want to say anything to your friend before he leaves us? Last chance.”

Mech frowned. “Huh? What you talking about?”

“I ain’t leaving, pal,” said Cal. The jacket slithered around him, hardening like armor and forming into spiked metal fists.

If Krone noticed Splurt’s shapeshifting, he did nothing to show it. “Yes, Carver. You are,” he said.

Cal watched something drift away from his face, becoming dust. It took him a moment to realize it was his nose. He looked down and saw flesh-colored specks drifting away from his feet and spiraling around him just above the floor.

“What the fonk is this now?” he asked, right before both he and Splurt exploded into their component atoms, and vanished.

Mech staggered back a step. “What did…where did they go? What did you do?”

Krone raised both fists in front of his face, then spread the fingers wide. “Poof!” he said. “And like that, they are gone.” He gestured to a vault-like door at the back of the room, which swung open at his command. “You should probably be getting off, too. I’m sure you’ll want to be with your friends when it all happens.”

“I ain’t going nowhere. Bring them back,” Mech warned.

“Oh no. I can’t. Or won’t. One of those,” Krone said. He made a shoo gesture. “Now, off you pop. You wouldn’t want to overstay your welcome and make a nuisance of yourself now, would you?”

“You want to see me make a nuisance of myself? Watch this,” Mech cranked his dial almost all the way to the right, diverting power to his hydraulics but holding onto enough brainpower to avoid going into full-blown frenzy mode. He seemed to grow larger, and his face twisted into a savage scowl.

Krone ran at him, his own face utterly impassive as he caught Mech around the ribcage and forced him back toward the open door.

For a split second, Mech’s face registered surprise, but then he brought both fists together on either side of Krone’s head. Once. Twice. Bang. Bang.

Krone registered the impacts with a fleeting scowl, but kept pushing. He thrust both arms forward, and Mech hurtled out through the door and into another of the Scooby-Doo corridors from earlier.

“And stay out,” Krone said, then the door swung closed with a low clang, and a blast shield dropped in front of it.

Mech hurled himself at the barricade, but no matter how hard he hit it, he couldn’t make a dent in the metal. It had the unmistakable grey-green sheen of a Durium alloy, which meant it would take nothing short of a torpedo blast to open the thing.

“Motherfonker!” he roared, because he knew there was nothing else he could do but get back to the ship and figure out what to do from there.

At least it hadn’t been a total waste of time.

As Mech hobbled away, Geronimus Krone returned to his view screen and looked out over his panoramic view of space. He didn’t look over at any of the terminals lining the far end of the room where he’d thrown Mech, and so was completely unaware of the tiny high-tech doodah nestled safely in the computer thingy.

Twelve

“Where’s Cal?” Loren demanded as Mech stomped onto the bridge.

“He’s gone. Splurt, too.”

Loren jumped to her feet. “What? What do you mean ‘gone’? You mean you left them? We have to go—”

Mech caught her by the shoulders as she moved to run past. “No. He’s gone. They both are. Krone was there. He… I don’t know. He vaporized them.”

“Krone? No. He what? What are you saying?”

Mech shrugged. “They were there. Cal was there, just standing there, then Krone did something, and he started coming apart. He came apart right in front of me. Wasn’t nothing I could do.”

He felt Loren become heavier in his grip as her legs gave way, and gently lowered her into her chair.

“No, but he… But Splurt could’ve…”

“He couldn’t. There was nothing anyone could’ve done,” Mech told her. He turned, noting they were alone on the bridge. It was better that way, he thought. “They’re gone, Loren. They’re both just gone.”

Loren’s eyes shimmered. She clenched her fists and tightened her jaw. “You got Krone, though, right? You killed that piece of shizz?”

Mech paused, then shook his head. Loren was on her feet again in an instant, bounding toward the bridge’s exit.

“Kevin, seal the door,” Mech said.

It slid shut just before Loren could dive through. She slammed the flats of her hands against it. “Kevin, open up!”

“Open that door and I’ll uninstall you,” Mech warned.

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin, and the door remained resolutely closed.

Loren spun, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Mech, let me out,” she demanded. “He killed Cal. And Splurt. We have to go finish this.”

“It’s already finished,” Mech said. “He’s dying. But he ain’t planning on doing it alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got some end of the universe plan or some shizz. You know what these fonks are like. The best way—the only way—we can get revenge for Cal is to stop whatever the hell he’s planning. That’s how we hurt him.”

Loren’s lips became thin. She gave the door one last thump with her elbow. “Fine. What’s he planning?”

“I don’t know,” Mech admitted.

Loren’s eyebrows met in the middle. “Then how do we stop him?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Just an FYI,” Kevin interrupted. “Krone’s ship’s landing bay doors are open, and the Currently Untitled is no longer being held. We are free to leave whenever we so choose. So, you know, perhaps he’s not all bad. If you overlook all the genocide and murder, I mean.”

“Take us out, Kevin,” Mech ordered.

Loren’s face became a picture of betrayal. “That’s it? We’re just leaving? We’re just flying away?”

“For now,” Mech said. “We’re leaving for now.”

The Untitled rumbled as its take-off thrusters fired, lifting the ship off the docking bay floor. The look Loren shot Mech almost froze his circuits, but then she diverted her gaze to the viewscreen as the ship turned toward the open bay doors, and the rectangle of space that lay beyond.

“So that’s it,” she said. “Miz. Cal. Splurt. That’s it.”

“No,” Mech intoned. “That ain’t it. There’s still me and you. There’s still everyone else we got aboard. They are still aboard, right?”

Loren nodded. “They’re back there somewhere.”

“OK. Good. There’s still all of us, and we still got a job to do. The Universe ain’t dying. Not on our watch. And why?” He drew himself up to his full height. “Because we’re motherfonking Space Team. That’s why.”

Loren managed a half-hearted smile, but only fleetingly. “We don’t know what he’s planning. How do we stop something we’re not even aware of?”

“Narp!” Mech bellowed. “Your hook-up work?”

The door slid open at Loren’s back, revealing Narp. The others were assembled behind him. Somewhere near the back, Dan Deadman flexed the fingers of his new arms, and nodded approvingly.

“Oh, it worked,” said Narp. He held up a datapad, his face frozen somewhere between excitement and utter, bowel-compacting terror. “You have got to see this…”

* * *

Cal was surprised to discover that he wasn’t dead. From the way Splurt boinged back into a ball shape, wobbled frantically in the air, then splatted against the ground, it was a safe bet that he was pretty surprised by this, also.

To be on the safe side, Cal patted himself down. Arms, legs and body were all present and correct. His nose was back. Fingers were working. He had a quick check down below and was immensely relieved to find no obvious problems there.

They had arrived on a planet. A real shizzhole of a place, from what Cal could gather at first glance. The sky was dark with clouds of dust or smoke, and the ground underfoot was blackened and charred, as if fire had ravaged the area in the not-too-distant past.

There were buildings half a mile away or so—jagged ruins that jutted up like rotten teeth toward that heavy, oppressive sky. There was something strange about them. Beyond the fact they were partially-destroyed, that is.

It took Cal a few moments to figure out why they looked odd. It was because they didn’t look odd. They looked like Earth buildings. Like he was standing on the site of what had once been a city, but was now a literal bombsite.

“Hello?” he called. His voice echoed around inside the dust cloud, then quickly faded back into silence.

Nobody answered. This wasn’t any great shock, exactly, but a friendly, “Howdy!” would’ve been a pleasant surprise.

“Any ideas, buddy?” Cal whispered, as Splurt rolled up onto his shoulder and nestled in the crook of his neck. “No, me neither. Guess we go check it out.”

It took a few minutes of walking to get to the closest building, just a few seconds for Cal to decide that it looked far too unstable, and then another minute and a half for him to reach one that didn’t look on the brink of imminent collapse.

Reaching this second building involved crossing a street. Weeds had forced their way through cracks in the road’s surface, although the lack of sunlight and moisture meant they hadn’t made it much further before giving up.

The door to the second building had fallen off, leaving a clear path for Cal to enter. This place was definitely in better condition than the previous one, and even boasted a couple of windows that had remained intact. Some stenciled writing on the windows announced it as a grocery store.

The shelves, to Cal’s surprise, were mostly full. If there’d been some sort of zombie apocalypse situation, he’d have expected the place to have been raided, but rows of familiar products faced him from the racks, all lined up and waiting to be selected.

Yep. This was Earth, alright.

A newspaper stand was fixed to the wall just inside the door. Faded yellow tabloid headlines screamed out at him, although none mentioned anything about the end of the world.

He picked up a copy of The Washington Post. The brittle paper crumbled between his fingers, but not before he saw the date.

“May Second, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight. That’s like…” He counted on his fingers. “…a long time ago.”

He looked around at the store, and at the apocalyptic landscape spilling in through one of the broken windows. “What the hell is this?”

* * *

The trolley was heavy, the wheels apparently possessed with a life of their own. He heaved it on as best he could, guiding it over the cracked ground where possible, riding out the bumps and rattling where not.

He knew this place would be ripe for the picking, but had been surprised by just how many skeletons he’d found. It would take him years to work his way through all of these. Decades, maybe. Or the other one. The ten decades one. He couldn’t quite recall.

It was quiet, of course. The trolley wheels squeaked occasionally, while the bones rattled in the plastic tub, but otherwise there was the same oppressive silence he’d lived with for all his life.

There was noise once, he thought. Noise and color and a vibrancy that made the hair on his arms prick up just as the thought of it. But if it was real, then it had been a long time ago, and now there was just grayness and silence and that was all that…

He stopped.

From one of the buildings on his right, he heard… something. For a moment, he thought it might be a voice, but it couldn’t be. There was no one left. No one but him.

He moved on, but had only traveled a few more steps when he heard the voice again.

“…a long time ago. What the hell is this?”

“What the hell is this?” he mimicked. Then, more quietly: “Stranger danger, stranger danger.”

His eyes instinctively went to one of the alleyways running between the buildings, scoping out a route for a quick getaway. He’d have to abandon the bones, which The Piles wouldn’t be happy about, but it was better that than stay here and confront whatever was lurking in there.

Yes, he’d run. He’d run and he wouldn’t stop running, and he’d just have to hope The Piles weren’t too angry with him.

“Don’t be angry, don’t be angry,” he whispered to nobody in particular.

He tried to make a run for it, but his hands held fast to the trolley. He grunted quietly as he heaved on them, straining to pull them free, terrified of what might come out of that building and spot him standing there.

He had to run. Had to go. Had to get away. Had to…

To…

“No!” he whisper-shouted, his face twisting up as he scolded himself. “Might need help. Might need help.”

Slowly—very slowly—he uncurled his fingers from around the trolley, and turned in the direction of the sound.

* * *

Cal rummaged through a display at the front of the store. “Well, the good news is, they’ve got Twinkies,” he said. “The bad news is, it looks like they’ve all turned black. Which means they’ve been here a long time, because I know for a fact that these things stay good for, like, a decade.”

Splurt tensed on Cal’s shoulder.

“It’s OK, I’m not going to eat it,” Cal said. He gazed longingly at the packaging for a while. “I mean… I do heal fast, so I guess it should be OK.”

Splurt wobbled and tapped Cal on the shoulder. He turned. “What’s up?” he asked, then the Twinkie paffed on the floor as it fell from his hands.

There, standing in the doorway, was a thin, wiry-looking man with a beard, long hair, and a filthy, ragged Transformers t-shirt that was several sizes too small.

“Are you real?” the guy asked, his voice barely a croak.

“I’m not only real, pal,” Cal replied, stepping in closer and looking the stranger up and down. Only he wasn’t a stranger. Far from it.

“I think I’m you!”

* * *

Mech, Loren, and everyone else currently crammed aboard the Untitled stood on the bridge, gazing in wonder at the projected stars and planets orbiting around them. The light from tiny suns and glittering nebulae flickered across their faces and danced their shadows across the walls.

“It’s beautiful,” Ollie whispered.

“It’s not bad, I suppose,” said Artur. “If ye like that sort o’ thing.”

Outside, the stars streaked by as Kevin piloted the ship in a looping warp speed route designed to avoid any more trouble.

“What are we looking at?” Loren asked, gesturing around the bridge.

“The galaxy,” said Narp. “Well, no. Technically, three full sectors and part of a fourth. Let’s just call it a map.”

The words emerged from Mech’s mouth of their own free will, and surprised him as much as anyone. “Ain’t a map. It’s a space map.”

Loren caught his eye. They both smiled, but only a little, and it didn’t last.

“A map to what?” asked Deadman. He tried to poke a sun with one of his new fingers, but the digit passed right through.

“To these,” said Narp, tapping his pad. Thirty-seven dots of red light appeared among the stars. Each one hung beside a planet like a tiny satellite, turning with it in a geosynchronous orbit. If anyone was to look closer, they’d see a much smaller red light on the planet’s surface directly below the orbiting one.

“What are they?” asked Artur. “Brothels?”

“What? No!” said Narp. “The skull station orbiting Parloo? That’s what these are.”

“What are they for?” asked Mech.

“That’s the thing, I couldn’t work it out,” said Narp. “Not at first. Reading the schematics, the stations seem to be some sort of power converter. They connect to a focusing platform on the planet below, and—I think—use it to draw energy from that world’s core.”

“So, what are you saying?” asked Deadman. “They’re going to blow up Parloo?”

“Good fecking riddance, if ye ask me,” said Artur.

“No, it’s more than that,” said Narp.

“They’re going to more than blow it up?” said Artur. “I kind of feel that blowing it up is pretty much the peak of what they can do to the place. I mean, what else are they going to do? Piss all over what’s left?”

“The core energy is just, like, the ignition. It’s the spark that powers the station and makes it do its thing,” Narp explained.

“And what is ‘its thing?’” Loren asked.

“Like I say, I couldn’t work it out, so I used some of your AI’s processing power to run through a few thousand possibilities,” Narp said.

“I beg your pardon?” gasped Kevin.

Narp waved a hand. “You didn’t even notice. It’s not like you haven’t got plenty to spare.”

“I’ve never felt so violated,” Kevin said. He fell silent for a moment. “Well, perhaps once.”

“The point is, I know what these are for. They’re dark matter processing plants,” said Narp.

Everyone glanced at everyone else.

“What does that mean?” asked Ollie.

Narp looked to Mech. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

Mech blinked. “Huh? Oh. Uh… You go ahead.”

“OK. So, you all know that Dark Matter doesn’t interact with observable electromagnetic radiation, right?” asked Narp. “You know, like light.”

Everyone once again glanced at everyone else.

“Of course,” said Mech. “But assume some of us don’t.”

Narp sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s matter we know exists, but it’s invisible—or dark—to the whole electromagnetic spectrum, so we can’t actually ‘see’ it.”

“Then how do you know it’s there?” asked Alan.

“You can probably smell it,” Ollie suggested.

“Or hear it,” guessed Higgsy. “Can you hear it?”

Narp scowled. “No, you can’t hear… Forget it. The science isn’t important. Think of it like…”

He looked around the bridge, then snatched something small and home-baked from a tray. “Think of it like a spit nibble. Looking at it, you can’t see the spit—”

“Wait!” said Artur. “Are ye telling me there’s actual spit in those fecking things?”

“You can’t see the spit,” Narp continued, “but it’s a vital component. Without it…” He crushed the spit nibble between finger and thumb, rubbing it until it became flaky crumbs. “…the whole thing falls apart.”

“I trust someone else will be cleaning that up,” said Kevin. “Or shall it be left to Muggins here, as usual?”

“So… what’s happening?” asked Ollie. “Someone’s destroying spit nibbles?”

“No. No, it’s an analogy,” said Narp, lowering his hand. “Those stations are going to take the Dark Matter out of the universe. And when that happens?”

He opened his fingers, letting the last of the pastry flakes fall to the floor.

Ollie gasped. “No more spit nibbles.”

“No more universe,” Loren corrected.

“No more anything,” said Ronda.

“Why Parloo?” asked Deadman.

The others turned to him. “I mean, why pick there? What’s special about it?”

Narp consulted his datapad, his fingers tapping across the screen. “I don’t know, but…”

He pointed to another of the planets with the light above it. “That’s where we come from. My mom and me.”

“That’s Toorosh,” Loren whispered, leaning in to examine another of the lights. “That’s my homeworld.”

Mech paced through the swirling galaxy projection. “Greyx Prime. Earth. This can’t be no coincidence.”

“He’s sending us a message,” said Loren. “He knew we’d all come together. This is his final slap in the face to all of us.”

“How do we stop it?” Mech asked. “Blow them up?”

“That might work,” Narp confirmed. “But there are too many. We’d only have to miss one to fail, and they’re too far apart for us to even reach them all in time. He’s planned this pretty carefully.”

He pointed to a few different dots. “The process is already starting, here, here, here and here. Those stations are in the process of coming online. The rest won’t be far behind.”

“So, what’re ye saying?” asked Artur. “There’s feck all we can do?”

“Why are those coming online first?” asked Loren. “Why those four?”

Narp consulted his pad. “I don’t know. They were the first to be built. They, uh, they look bigger… I don’t know.”

“Krone said something about four companions helping him bring on the end,” Mech said. “I thought he meant his generals, but maybe he meant these.”

“Or both,” Loren suggested. “Could the generals be on those stations?”

“Yes!” said Ronda, the word blurting out of her with such force she fell back against Dan Deadman. She clutched her head, as if worried it might fly off. “I see them. They are there.” She shook her head. “Or… I think… It’s difficult.”

“What if we take out just those four?” Mech asked.

“Give me a second,” said Narp. His fingers danced on his screen, then his eyes darted up to the hologram. “I’m running a simulation based on the data we’ve got.”

The first four lights blinked out. Then, one by one, the others followed.

Narp whistled quietly. “Holy shizz. They’re relays. They’re just carrying the command signal sent from those four stations.”

“So what are you saying?” asked Loren. “Take those four out, and the rest fall?”

“And that stops the galaxy getting torn apart?” Deadman added.

“I… Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Narp confirmed. “But they’re all in different sectors. We can’t cover them all.”

“Not in one ship, maybe,” said Nana Joan. “But we could split up.”

“How?” asked Mech. “We only got one ship.”

Nana’s wrinkled mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, don’t worry about that, dearie. I know where we can get us some more.”

* * *

Mizette of the Greyx was not happy. Being dead was turning out to be even more boring that she’d expected.

“I don’t get it. Like, aren’t we supposed to be training?” she asked.

Her father sat across from her, his spindly legs crossed beneath him, his back straight, his eyes closed. “This is training. You must find your inner peace, Mizette.”

“Uh, no. It’s fine,” Miz said. “I already found my inner peace, and then I totally killed it. Inner peace is, like, for losers. Sitting here isn’t going to help me beat the Unshuk.”

“It will. Trust me.”

“You keep saying that!” Miz snapped. “But I think you’re just scared, that’s all. Just because you couldn’t beat the Unshuk doesn’t mean I won’t!” She crossed her arms sulkily. “It’s like you’re just trying to keep me here for as long as you can and not let me get to…”

Miz stopped. She’d never been the sharpest tactical mind aboard the Untitled, largely because she never paid much attention to what was going on. On the rare occasions she did decide to show an interest, though, her instincts were rarely wrong.

And her instincts had just sparked into life.

Oh.

Oh, shizz.

Graxan opened one eye. He stared at her through it for a while, then closed it again.

“Figured it out, have you?” He snorted. “I’m almost impressed.”

Mizette stood up. “You’re not teaching me to fight the Unshuk,” she said. “You are the Unshuk.”

Graxan laughed. It was a slightly hysterical sounding giggle that didn’t suit him at all.

“Guilty!” he admitted.

As Mizette watched, Graxan’s shape began to change. It was subtle at first—a filling out of his shoulders, a slight elongating of his neck—but in moments he was barely recognizable as her father at all.

“It usually takes them years to work out what’s happening to them,” the Unshuk said in Graxan’s voice. “By which time, I’ve learned everything there is to learn about them. They don’t stand a chance. But you’re different. You might almost be a challenge, Mizette of the—”

A curved metal blade exploded through the Unshuk’s chest from behind. Miz watched in shock as blood gargled up into his mouth then poured out down his chin.

“Wh… wh…?” the Unshuk managed to splutter, then it fell forward onto the ground, dead.

A slender Greyx female was revealed behind it, her hands trembling on the shaft of legendary Greyx weapon, the Bladestaff. Her wide brown eyes gazed in wonder at Miz.

“Mom?” Mizette said.

“Mizette? I’m sorry,” her mother replied. “I got here as soon as I could. That… That thing, it wasn’t your father.”

Miz placed a hand over her mouth and gasped. “It wasn’t? Seriously?” She tutted and rolled her eyes. “Ugh. This is so lame,” she said. “You can quit the act. You’re totally the Unshuk, too.”

Mizette’s mom appeared briefly hurt by the accusation, but this was quickly shunted aside in favor of a cruel grin. “Ah well,” said the Unshuk. “It was worth a try.”

And with that, it lunged.

Thirteen

A hulking, rock-like figure in an expensively ill-fitting suit sat back in a reinforced golden throne, waiting for his elderly manservant to finish his introduction.

“…slayer of the Sh-int’ee, Lord of the Ktubboth, destructor of the following planetary systems: Bomsh. Himpot. Novalls Six through Nine. Krooroororo. Krooroororie. Duncanworld—”

Mech clanked his teeth together. “Can we hurry this up?”

“—and Qum,” concluded the servant.

“Thank you, Dtsgadston,” said the slab in the suit. He jabbed a finger at the butler. “Hoo-ha! That’s why I pay this guy the big bucks.”

“It was an honor and a pleasure, sir. As always,” Dtsgadston replied, snapping his head up and down in another bow.

Loren and Mech watched the servant retreat to a suitably deferential position behind the throne. It was surprising to see Dtsgadston up and about. Last time they’d seen him was right after Cal had cleaved his skull in two with an ax. Either the butler had made a remarkable recovery or, more likely, none of that had happened in this timeline.

The fact the granite-faced gangster didn’t appear to recognize Mech or Loren certainly supported this theory. He watched them impatiently, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne. A gaggle of chittering creatures wearing hats made of twigs supported the throne on their backs. This seemed to be taking an enormous amount of effort, and was only possible due to the sheer number of them crammed under the platform on which the throne rested, and the fact they kept tagging in and out with a support team.

“You don’t remember us,” said Loren. “Do you, Kornack?”

Kornack looked them both slowly up and down. He flicked his eyes to the Currently Untitled that stood on a landing pad behind them. For a moment, something like recognition flitted across his literally stony expression.

“Wait a minute. Hot damn!” He pointed to Loren. “Are you my first wife?”

Loren rested her hand on the butt of her blaster. “No.”

“Huh,” said Kornack. He shifted the finger to Mech. “Are you my first wife?”

Mech didn’t bother answering. He had recently discovered that a huge part of his memory had been wiped in the past, but he was reasonably confident that nowhere in all that missing data would there be a wedding to any Remnants Warlord.

At least, he hoped not.

“No? OK. Then you got me,” said Kornack. His face darkened. “So, tell me who you are, what the fonk you want, and why I shouldn’t have you killed right now. Why did you want to see me?”

“We didn’t,” said Loren. Stepping aside, she jabbed a thumb in the direction of the ramp, just as Nana Joan appeared at the top of it. “She did.”

Kornack’s face fell. It already resembled a partially melted brick, so this was only noticeable if you looked really closely, but there was definitely some face-falling evident.

“Hello, dearie,” said Nana, smiling warmly as she reached the bottom of the ramp. “It’s been a long time.”

Kornack adjusted himself in his seat so he was sitting a little more upright. “Nana Joan,” he said. Beneath him, the chirping of the hat-creatures fell silent. Yellow eyes peeped out between the twigs of their headgear as those who could see her stared in awe at the elderly woman, and those further back just started in awe in general.

“What do you want?” Kornack asked, then he flinched and checked his tone. “I mean, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, not a lot. Just a tiny thing, really.” Nana smiled, showing off her false teeth. “I need three ships. And a pilot.”

“You do, huh?” said Kornack. He rolled his answer around in his mouth, debating on whether to voice it. “What’s in it for me?”

Nana brushed down the front of her cardigan, picked a barely visible fleck of dirt from it, then flicked it away. “You get to survive,” she said. “We all do.”

Kornack’s rocky brow furrowed like a mini-landslide. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geronimus Krone is going to tear the universe apart,” Loren said. “We know how to stop him, but we…” She glanced at Mech, who nodded encouragingly. “We need your help.”

“Like I said, it’s in your best interests,” Nana added. “There’s very little point in being Lord of the Ktubboth if the is no Ktubboth left to lord over. Don’t you think, dearie?”

Kornack rubbed his chin. The resulting friction caused sparks that threatened to ignite his suit. “Fine. You need ships? I got ships. I got a pilot, too. Hoo-ha! I got the best fonking pilot in the Remnants, and he’s all yours.”

“Uh, great,” said Loren. She looked around. “Who is it?”

Kornack jumped to his feet. The sudden shift in weight caught the hat-things off guard, and the platform collapsed, killing them all instantly.

“Me!” the warlord boomed. “You lucky sons-a-bedges can take Kornack!”

Dtsgadston stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Slayer of the Sh-int’ee, Lord of the Ktubboth, destructor of the following planetary systems: Bomsh. Himpot. Novalls Six through—”

“Alright, alright, Dtsgadston, we get the point,” Kornack said. He clapped his hands together. “Now go fetch these nice people their ships.”

* * *

Cal scurried along after the other Cal, Splurt wobbling along on his shoulder.

“Hey, wait up!” Cal called, picking his way across a network of cracks and several mounds of debris. “Stop, I want to talk to you!”

Up ahead, the other Cal was moving much more quickly, hopping over obstacles with practiced ease. He had about-turned shortly after the encounter in the grocery store, and marched on out of there, leaving his trolley full of dead people parts behind.

“Not real. Not real,” Other Cal insisted. He screwed his eyes closed several times, clenching and unclenching his fists as he hurried ahead. “Not there. Nuh-uh. No one home.”

Cal stopped. It was clear that Other Cal was going to keep pulling ahead, despite his bare feet and stooped frame. He’d clearly been navigating terrain like this for a while.

“Splurt, would you?” Cal asked.

Spurt stretched out, growing longer as he twanged a rapidly growing tentacle in Other Cal’s direction. The tentacle quickly ensnared Other Cal, pinning his arms to his sides and preventing him walking any further.

“Thanks, buddy,” said Cal.

Other Cal screamed. It wasn’t the sort of classy, dignified and unmistakably manly screaming Cal liked to think he managed to pull off in those rare circumstances where screaming was required, but a frenzied, high-pitched squeal that rose like a car alarm and echoed through the ruined streets.

“Shh! Shut the fonk up!” Cal hissed, flapping his arms up and down to gesture for quiet as he scrambled across to where Other Cal stood trapped. “Look at this place? It’s bound to be teeming with monsters. Stop screaming before—”

Splurt grew upward until he covered Other Cal’s mouth. The screaming continued, albeit much more muffled.

“Look, calm down,” Cal urged. “If anyone should be freaking out here, it’s me. I mean… look at me. At you. At us. What the fonk is going on here? None of this makes any sense.”

Other Cal’s eyes kept bulging in that hysterical way they had been, but the screaming fell away into a stunned silence. He looked Cal up and down several times, frowned heavily, then kicked him very hard on the shin.

“Ow! Jesus! What was that for?” Cal asked. Although Other Cal had no shoes on, he still kicked like a damn mule.

“Rmf,” said Other Cal.

Cal glanced around. “OK, I’m going to get Splurt to take the gag off, but don’t scream. We don’t want you drawing any unwanted attention from whatever the hell else lives in this shizzhole.”

Splurt shimmied down a little, but in a way that suggested he was ready to spring back up again at a moment’s notice.

“Nothing else,” whispered Other Cal.

Cal frowned. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Other Cal gestured at the world around them. “Nothing else. No one. Just me.”

He prodded Cal with his foot, less violently this time.

“Real,” Other Cal whispered. “Real.”

“Of course I’m real,” said Cal. “Why wouldn’t I be real? And what do you mean there’s no one else?”

“Dead. All dead,” Other Cal said.

He raised a crooked finger to the sky. “Spaceships. They came. They came from the sky. Everyone dead.” His voice became a croak. “But not me. Not me.”

He kicked Cal again. “Not you.”

Cal gestured for Splurt to let Other Cal go. Splurt plopped down into the dirt, then crawled up onto Cal’s back. Other Cal didn’t seem put out by this in the slightest.

“So, wait. What are you saying?” asked Cal. “Spaceships came down here, killed everyone, but specifically didn’t touch you?”

Other Cal shook his head. “Touched me. Did things.”

Cal felt his stomach twist. “Jesus. What kind of things?” He held up a hand. “Wait, I don’t want to know.” He lowered the hand. “Or do I? Can you give me a clue? Can you point to the general area where they—”

He was interrupted by Other Cal stabbing himself in the throat with a rusted blade, then yanking it out again. Blood fountained from the wound, immediately blinding Cal and forcing him to stumble back, coughing, spluttering, and trying to figure out what the fonk was going on.

When he smeared the blood out of his eyes enough to open them, Other Cal was dead. Very dead. He lay slumped on the ground in an expanding puddle of blood, gazing emptily up at the dust clouds above. He looked… relaxed. Peaceful, even. You know, if you ignored the gaping wound in his throat and the pebbledashing of gore across his face.

Cal nudged the body with his foot. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Well… I guess that’s that,” he mumbled. He puffed out his cheeks. “Didn’t see that coming. Did you?”

Splurt grew a head and shook it.

“What should we do?” Cal wondered. Placing a hand on one knee, he leaned forward and peered down at the corpse. Even through the blood, beard and years of toil that had aged him prematurely, the guy was definitely Cal Carver. And as for that t-shirt, Cal was pretty sure he remembered owning it once upon a time.

“Should we bury him?” he wondered.

Splurt grew shoulders and shrugged.

Burying him felt like it would be quite a lot of work. The ground looked pretty hard and he didn’t have a spade. Sure, Splurt could turn into one, but still. Cal wasn’t sure he could deal with tossing his own corpse into a hole.

He decided to build a memorial cairn beside Other Cal, instead. It would be a fitting tribute, he thought. And, more importantly, would require less effort.

A search followed for some suitably grandiose looking stones, but was quickly abandoned in favor of just grabbing any old lumps of rock that happened to be lying around. Cal found a few broken bricks, while Splurt grabbed an impressively huge chunk of masonry that must’ve fallen from one of the buildings at some point. It was three or four feet wide, and was practically a cairn all on its own.

Splurt held it aloft, ready to place it down at Cal’s command.

“I should say a few words,” Cal reckoned. He cleared his throat and gazed into the middle distance for a while, trying to find just the right thing to say.

“Cal Carver,” he began. “You were… another version of me. You lived on…” He looked around. “…your own, I think. And you… Actually, that’s probably enough. It’s not like the poor bamston’s here to listen to any of—”

Other Cal sat up suddenly, gasping and gurgling as he clutched at his throat.

“WHAT THE FONK?!” Cal ejected, leaping back.

Driven by instinct, Splurt brought the chunk of masonry down on Other Cal’s head, killing him instantly.

Cal wheezed out a gasp of horrified disbelief. “What the…? He was… And then you… With the…” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Aw, Jesus. He was dead, right? I thought he was dead. I kicked him, he didn’t respond. That’s dead.”

Biting his lip, Cal regarded the sizeable piece of building now covering the top half of Other Cal’s body. “Is he dead now, at least?”

Wrapping two tendrils around the masonry, Splurt heaved it aside. Part of Other Cal’s face came with it. Cal turned away, swallowing down a mouthful of puke. “Aw… fonk. Yeah. Yep. Yep. He’s dead, alright.”

There was a thack as Splurt dropped the chunk of mortar and brick beside the mangled corpse of Other Cal. Cal set a boulder on top, then stepped back to admire it.

“I mean, it’s not the grandest memorial I’ve ever seen, but it’s something, right? It’s the thought that—”

Cal spun away, doubled over, and vomited.

He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of seeing some alternate version of himself, the sight of said alternate version’s cracked-open skull, or the smell currently wafting from it, and right now he didn’t really care. He hurled. Violently. Spectacularly. Each heaving retch doubled him over as wave after wave of barf coated the ground in shades of yellow and brown. Splurt stood beside him, stretched almost as tall as Cal was, and gently rubbed his back.

“Oh god,” Cal groaned, when he finally straightened up. “Oh god, that was horrible. Caught me off guard there. You know, the smell of all the—”

Cal threw up again.

“OK, got it this time. I’m good. I’m good,” he insisted, once the fresh wave had passed. He spat a couple of times, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then turned away from the puddle of puke before it set him off again.

Other Cal stood behind him. He was smiling. Or sort of smiling, because half his face had cracked open, and his nose was mostly pointing inward. An eye hung down on one cheek, like a spider on a thread. As Cal watched, it was sucked back into the empty eye socket, nestling into place with a schlop.

Cal’s head swam. His stomach constricted, but there was nothing left to come out.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” he slurred.

And then he toppled slowly backwards and landed in a puddle of warm vomit.

Fourteen

Loren sat in the pilot’s seat aboard the Currently Untitled, watching the planet Kornack’s atmosphere dissipate across the screen. Behind her, the empty space on the bridge felt heavy and oppressive. She could feel the lack of their presence. First Miz, now Cal and Splurt.

There were so many things she should’ve said. So many things she should’ve told him. Told all of them.

Well, perhaps not so much Splurt, who seemed to be pretty content just doing his own thing, but she should’ve done more to try to fix things with Miz. Should’ve finally told Cal that she…

No. Even in her head, she couldn’t say it. Not even now that he was gone. Especially now that he was gone.

“You OK?” asked Mech.

At least he was still there, standing up front. He had angled himself a little differently, she noticed, deliberately avoiding catching sight of Cal’s empty seat out of the corner of his eye. He’d always acted like he hated Cal. Made a point of telling him on a regular basis.

And yet, he could’ve left any time he liked.

“I will be,” said Loren. “What’s happening with the others?”

Mech busied himself at the console for a moment, then three windows appeared down the right side of the screen.

On the top window, Nana Joan reclined in the hammock-like pilot’s pod of a presumably stolen Cauraxian Fighter. Behind her, Higgsy wrestled with a hammock of his own, which appeared to be in the process of cocooning him completely. The top of Alan’s head was just visible at the bottom of the window.

Below that, in the middle, Ronda and Narp were at the twin flight stations of a ship Loren hadn’t recognized. She considered herself something of a specialist in that sort of thing, so the fact she had absolutely no idea about where the ship had come from had irked her a bit. It looked sleek, and seemed to be pretty heavily armed, though, so she guessed it would be up to the job.

Whatever that job might turn out to be.

Finally, at the bottom, most of the window was filled with Kornack’s face. Loren could just make out part of Dan Deadman and Ollie behind them, although there was no sign of…

“Ye alright there, Princess?” asked Artur.

Loren’s chair creaked as she turned very slowly and looked down at the tiny blue-skinned figure. His bushy green beard bristled as he grinned up at her. “Surprised to see me?”

“You’re supposed to be with them,” Loren said, pointing at the screen.

“What, yer psychic woman?”

Loren glanced at the screen, then lowered her arm a fraction. “With them.”

Artur shrugged. “Ah, they’ll be fine. Sure, what do they need me for? They’ve got Deadman and Ollie, and yer big stone fella there looks like he’d be handy in a scrap. What’ve you got? A big robot.”

“Not a robot,” Mech parroted.

“I just thought ye might need me help, that’s all,” said Artur.

Loren looked to Mech, who shrugged. “Can’t do much about it now.”

“We could toss him out the airlock,” Loren suggested.

“Ha! Nice one, Princess,” Artur laughed.

Loren glared impassively back at him.

“Ye wouldn’t, would ye?”

With a sigh, Loren gestured to the seats at the back of the bridge. “Go… buckle up. Or hang on. Or whatever. Things could get bumpy, and I’d hate for you to get tossed around all over the place.”

She spun the ship in a complete spiral. Artur howled as he was tossed around, and thudded off pretty much every available surface.

“Like that,” said Loren.

“That was un-fecking-called for,” Artur told her, but he scurried up the back and tangled himself in a seat belt before she could do it again.

Mech addressed the faces on screen. “So, everyone knows their part?”

“Yes, dearie,” said Nana Joan. “We know where we’re going, and what we have to do.”

“None of those stations can survive,” said Loren. “When we get there, we’ll all be too far out of range to communicate in real time. We’ll be on our own.”

“Is Artur with you?” asked Ollie, leaning into shot over Kornack’s shoulder. She had ditched the furry suit in favor of a T-Shirt that proclaimed, ‘Shizz Happens!’

“Hey, you mind?” Kornack demanded. “I’m trying to figure out how to fly this thing here.”

“Yes, he’s here,” said Loren. “Unfortunately.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” said Deadman. “What do you mean you’re trying to figure out how to fly it? I thought you knew how to fly it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it under control,” Kornack said. “All I gotta do is—”

He pressed something and the screen clicked off.

A moment later, it clicked back on again.

“—viously that’s not the right one.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “Hey, corpse guy, I think I saw a manual back there. Get it for me, would ya?”

Loren cursed below her breath. “Kornack, if you can’t fly that thing…”

“Relax. Hoo-ha! I’m just messin’ with ya! You want me to fly this thing? I will fly this thing until it damn well falls apart!”

“Why would that happen?” Ollie fretted. “We don’t want it to fall apart, do we? Why is that a good thing?”

“Hey, cool your jets. It’s a figure of speech.” Kornack gestured to his camera. “Right?”

Loren blinked. It was a new one on her, but she didn’t have time to debate it.

“Uh, right. So… I guess this is it.”

“For now,” said Ronda. “I suspect we’ll meet again.”

“I’ll hold you to that, dearie,” said Nana Joan. “You promised me that recipe.”

“I did,” Ronda confirmed. “And you’ll get it.” She keyed a few controls and smiled. “Someday,” she said, then her feed cut off as, on screen, her and Narp’s ship became a streak, then a blip, then was gone.

“Good luck,” said Loren. “Let’s do it for Cal.”

“Or we could do it for everyone in the universe,” Deadman pointed out.

“OK, fine. And for them,” Loren conceded. “For Cal, and for everyone else in the universe.”

“And for Kornack!” cheered Kornack, but nobody really joined in. “Hoo-ha!”

His feed cut away. His ship streaked off.

Nana Joan nodded to the camera. Behind her, Higgsy flopped all the way over and fell, face-first, onto the floor. At the bottom of the screen, Alan’s head turned. “Get up, you id—” he began, but then that feed ended, too. Loren watched Nana Joan’s ship flare briefly among the distant stars.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Loren said.

“Just the three of us,” said Artur from the back. “We make a fine trio, so we do.”

“You mean a fine quadret,” Kevin said.

Mech frowned. “I think it’s quartet.”

Kevin snorted. “No, sir. I’m afraid not. Still, nice try. Might be worth turning your dial up a tick or two, though. Your intellect seems to be set a little on the low side.” He chuckled wryly. “‘Quartet,’ indeed.”

“Everyone ready?” asked Loren, cutting in before Mech could continue the argument.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Ready,” Mech confirmed.

“Sure, I was born ready, Princess,” Artur chimed. “Let’s go blow some bastards into tiny pieces.”

“First sensible thing you’ve said since you got here,” Loren muttered, then she hit the warp and the Currently Untitled streaked off into the black.

* * *

“Well, well, well. Look who finally shows his face again. Need me for something now, do you?”

Cal’s eyes rolled around in his head for a few seconds, then eventually worked out how to open. He was propped up against a rock on a beach, a crackling campfire pushing back the night. Insects buzzed around the flame, as if daring each other to see who could get closest.

A figure sat on the other side of the fire, mostly obscured by shadow. Cal was barely able to make him out until he leaned forward and poked the base of the flames with a stick.

“Tobey Maguire!” Cal exclaimed. “How’ve you been, buddy?”

Former Hollywood actor turned imaginary construct, Tobey Maguire, sniffed. It was a very deliberate sniff, designed to suggest he was unimpressed.

“Oh, ‘buddy’ now, is it?” asked Tobey Maguire. “When was the last time you came round?”

Cal shuffled into more of an upright position. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You used to drop in all the time,” said Tobey Maguire, poking the fire more violently. “You’d get hit on the head, or smashed through a wall, or shot to death, and then—poof—suddenly, there you are. Suddenly, I’m important.”

The end of his stick caught fire. He spent a panicky few seconds thwacking it out on the sand.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to come back?” Tobey Maguire asked.

Cal waited for the answer. It didn’t come. “Sorry, was that a rhetorical question, or…?”

“A long time,” Tobey Maguire told him. “A long time, that’s how long. It’s pathetic, really. I’m pathetic. I just wander around in here, waiting for you to come back. Just waiting for a… a… glimmer that you still care.”

Cal stood up and dusted the sand from his butt. “Hey, now, Tobey Maguire,” he soothed. “Of course I care. It’s just… I guess I’ve been knocked unconscious and killed less often lately. That’s all.”

Tobey Maguire jabbed a thumb behind him at nothing in particular. “Do you know you’ve got a racist squirrel in here somewhere? Just full-on racist. I see it sometimes.”

Cal gazed in the direction Tobey Maguire had indicated, but saw nothing but darkness, and heard nothing except the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.

“Well, at least you’ve got company,” Cal said, grinning awkwardly.

“I met Lionel Richie, too.”

Cal raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah. Turns out, he’s a monster,” said Tobey Maguire. He jabbed the fire again with his blackened stick. “Although that might’ve been a dream,” he admitted. “I don’t really know anymore.”

Cal stepped closer to the campfire and held out his hands to it. Despite appearances, it wasn’t giving off any heat. It was no more a real fire than the man sitting across from him was a real Teen-Choice-Award winning Spider-Man actor.

Cal’s relationship with Tobey Maguire was a complicated one in many ways. He’d never met the real Tobey Maguire back on Earth. If he were being brutally honest, he’d never really thought about the guy much, beyond quite liking his performances in Pleasantville and The Hobbit.

Somehow, though, in the aftermath of everyone on Earth being killed by parasitic bug-creatures unleashed by the Zertex Corporation, Tobey Maguire—or a version of Tobey Maguire, at least—had set up home in Cal’s subconscious. Since Cal had arrived in space, Tobey Maguire had proven to be everything from a trusted advisor and confidant, to someone who was frustratingly bad at jigsaw puzzles.

Cal kind of felt sorry for the guy. To go from the dizzy heights of almost being nominated for an Oscar that one time, to bumming around inside a stranger’s head had to be hard. And he was right, it had been a while since Cal had last dropped by. Even when he did, he didn’t stick around long, although this was usually because he was in the middle of being physically assaulted back in the real world, and waking up before his limbs were torn off by monsters usually took priority.

“You’re right, Tobey Maguire,” Cal admitted. Tobey Maguire didn’t look up, and just kept jabbing sulkily at the fire. “I’ve been a lousy friend. Or imaginary friend, or whatever this whole thing between us is.”

He squatted down across from Tobey Maguire and tried, without luck, to catch his eye. “So here’s what I’m going to do. If I survive whatever’s going on out there—and that’s a big if—then I’ll have Mech punch me unconscious once a week or so.”

Tobey Maguire’s eyes flicked up, but only for a moment.

“We can get together, hang out, have a few laughs. You can tell me what it was like working on The Hobbit.”

“I wasn’t in The Hobbit,” Tobey Maguire replied.

“Weren’t you? You sure?” Cal asked.

“Positive.”

Cal shrugged. “Fair enough. By the way, isn’t it crazy that you know that and I don’t? I mean, how does that work?”

Tobey Maguire shrugged. Cal brought himself back on topic.

“The point is, I’ll come by more often, OK? We can hang out.”

Tobey Maguire stopped poking the fire. He leaned back a little, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “We could hang out now. I mean, if you like?”

“Now? Fonk, no,” said Cal, straightening up. “There’s, like, a clone of me with a fonked up face out there, and the Universe might be about to end. Gotta go. But next time, OK? Next time.”

Tobey Maguire sighed. “Yeah. We’ll see,” said Tobey Maguire, and then the fire expanded to fill the world, and Cal woke up inside a plastic tub, half-buried by skeletons.

“Yeargh! What the—?” he spluttered, thrashing and kicking at the yellowing bones. This only served to bury him deeper in the pile, and he stopped when his back thumped against the tub’s smooth bottom.

The other Cal was pushing the trolley along by its handles. His face looked pretty much exactly as it had looked the first time Cal had met him. A touch less surprised, perhaps, but at least the shape, general condition, and absence of brains oozing through a hole in his forehead were the same.

“Your face!” Cal blurted. “Your face is… intact.”

“Heal fast. I heal fast,” Other Cal said. “The spaceship man did it. Can’t die now.” He giggled, but it was, if anything, the opposite of laughter. “Can’t never ever die now.”

Cal squirmed around in the tub. Someone’s thigh bone was sticking into his back, and jabbing into him whenever the tub hit a pothole. Which was approximately every three seconds.

“So, what are you saying? He killed everyone, left you here alone, but made sure you couldn’t die?”

Other Cal nodded. His eyes had been filled with tears, but the sudden head movements sent them cascading freely down his dirty cheeks. “Yes. Yes. That.”

“Jesus. That guy’s even more of a shizznod than I thought.” He caught the edges of the tub and pulled himself up a little. “Hey, where’s Splurt? Splurt? Splurt?”

A skull beside him grew eyes and a tiny pair of disconcertingly feminine legs.

“I hope to god that’s you,” Cal said. To his relief, the yellowing skull became a gelatinous green ball and flopped down onto his chest.

“Green,” said Other Cal. He tore one hand from the trolley handle just long enough to point. “Green.”

“Uh, yeah. Great work,” said Cal. “He’s green, alright.”

Other Cal smiled proudly, and went back to pushing.

Cal watched him for a while, then looked down at the Transformers T-Shirt.

He thought back to the newspaper, and the date printed on it.

May 2nd, 1988.

“Holy shizz! Wait a minute!” Cal cried, kicking and wrestling himself up onto his knees. “Krone… the spaceship. It came when we were six?”

Other Cal shrunk back, cowering as if he’d done something wrong. Guilt jabbed at Cal, and he held his hands up in a calming gesture.

“Hey, hey. It’s OK. It’s OK. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m you, remember? We’re the same.”

Other Cal didn’t seem sure. He shuffled from foot to foot, wringing the bottom of his undersized T-Shirt between both hands.

“Be nice. Don’t hit,” he whimpered. “Don’t hit.”

“What? No! Hey…” Cal soothed. He began to clamber out of the plastic tub, but his weight tipped the whole trolley over, and both he and the bones spilled out onto the ground. The sudden movement and rush of noise made Other Cal retreat even further.

“It’s fine. Relax. Totally meant that,” Cal said, getting to his feet. Splurt was perched on his shoulder, his bulbous eyes flicking between both versions of the same man.

Other Cal cowered before him, twisted and aged-looking, like some sort of distorted mockery of the original.

Six. Jesus, he’d only been six. Krone had said he’d already taken his revenge, but Cal hadn’t expected it to be quite as cruel as this.

“I’m going to fix this, OK?” Cal said, partly to the other version of him, but mostly to the Universe in general. “I am going to find a way to put all this shizz right. You have my word.”

He looked around them at the crumbled buildings and the layer of dust that blocked out most of the sunlight.

“I just don’t quite know how yet.”

He clicked his fingers. “Wait. I have an idea!” he said. “It’s a long shot, but it just might work.”

Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth, leaned back and shouted, “Heeeelp!” at the sky.

They waited. Nobody appeared. Cal let his arms drop to his sides.

“Oh well,” he sighed. “We’ll think of something.”

* * *

“Approaching our designated station now, ma’am,” Kevin announced. “Early scan indications suggest we’re in for rather an easy time of it.”

“What’ve we got?” Loren asked.

“Patching the data through to you both now,” said Kevin.

Part of the main screen, which had been showing nothing but streaking stars, became a hazy map of sensor data. “I’m picking up three shapes,” Kevin said. “One large one, which is presumably the planet, a smaller one, which I’m taking to be the space station, and a really tiny one some distance away. I wasn’t sure about that one. A probe, perhaps.”

Mech frowned. “You sure this is right? I expected more of… I don’t know. Something.”

“Quite sure, sir,” said Kevin.

Mech took a step closer to the screen to examine it more closely.

“Oh my!” Kevin said. “The planet appears to be moving. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Don’t all planets move?” asked Artur from the back. “Or did I make that up when I was drunk?”

“They don’t move like this one just did.”

Mech glanced at the screen, then down at his feet. He took a step back.

“Oh! It’s doing it again!” Kevin yelped.

Mech sighed. “Your sensor data is showing the bridge,” he said, jabbing a finger at the large fuzzy shape on-screen. “That’s me.”

Loren waved her arms above her head. Sure enough, the middle-sized of the three blobby shapes moved around in time with her.

“Seriously, Kevin?” Loren tutted, dropping her arms again. “We know what’s in here. What’s waiting for us out there?”

“One moment, ma’am,” Kevin said.

The Untitled dropped out of warp speed. Dead ahead, a skull-shaped space station hung against the stars, several dozen fighter ships assembled around it. The ships immediately banked and curved toward the new arrival, cannons charging.

“Rather a lot, I’m afraid,” Kevin said. “Rather a lot indeed.”

Loren gripped the stick, taking over the flight controls. “OK, everyone strap in and hold on,” she warned. “This is going to get rough.”

“If there’s one thing ye’ll learn about me, Princess, is that I like the rough—” Artur began.

“Don’t!” Loren warned, then she jammed forward on a lever, pressed down on a pedal, and the Currently Untitled screamed headlong into battle.

Fifteen

Far away, on the other side of the galaxy, Ronda anticipated three different torpedoes, and easily glided her ship between them. The altered timeline had impacted on her ability to see the long-term future, but predicting the movements of the fighter ships wasn’t too challenging.

Thumbing a trigger, she took out all three attacking ships with a sputtering spray of blinding white cannon-fire, then saw another torpedo a split-second before it was launched, and dropped into a dive to evade.

“You could help, you know?” she said, side-eyeing her son. Narp tapped on his datapad, his eyes fixed on its screen. Outside, through the front window, a dozen more fighters came vomiting from the mouth of the skull-shaped station.

“Hm?” he asked, glancing at her just barely. “Oh. You got it.”

“There are more guns. You could shoot something.”

Narp wrinkled his nose. “Not really my thing.”

Ronda spun the ship into a spiraling climb, dodging a relentless beam of cannon-fire that tore after them. Narp held his datapad and waited for things to calm down again, then went back to tapping.

Ronda’s thumbs did their thing again. Behind them, the attacking ship disintegrated.

“They come apart, easy enough,” she said. “It’s like they aren’t even shielded.”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? They aren’t,” said Narp. His fingers danced across the screen, and he smiled over at his mom. “And now they don’t have guns.”

Another tap. Around them, space was illuminated by dozens of physics-defying explosions.

“And now they’ve all self-destructed.”

Ronda smiled proudly. Reaching over, she ruffled Narp’s hair.

“Never doubted you for a minute,” she told him, bringing the ship around in a smooth arc, and pointing it toward the station. The planet below it was not their own. She didn’t even know its name. But it wasn’t going to die today. It wasn’t.

No matter what her premonition told her.

* * *

Nana Joan hadn’t had this much fun in years. Well, that shootout with the Tribunal a while back had come pretty close, then the last-minute intervention they’d pulled when Cal and the others had launched their attack on one of the Zertex Command stations, but in terms of sheer, seat-of-the-pants thrills and spills, this pretty much took the cake.

She’d quickly gotten used to the ship, although she’d been disappointed to discover she couldn’t operate the weapons from the pilot’s seat. Higgsy and Alan were taking care of those, and while there was a lot of bickering going on back there, they seemed to be getting the hang of it. They were good boys, really. They’d just never been given a chance before.

Jork had been a good boy, too. And now he had never existed. Nana Joan wasn’t happy about that one bit.

A torpedo thumped into the ship’s heavy shielding, scoring a direct hit. The shield’s strength dropped just a fraction of one percent, and Nana Joan smiled gummily.

Yes, she was liking this ship. Maybe after all this, she would keep it.

She smiled sadly to herself and chanced a glance back at her bickering boys.

After.

If only.

* * *

“Wait. Wait. I got it,” said Kornack. His eyes shifted from the manual on his knees to the bank of controls in front of him. They flicked back and forth several times, never lingering in one place for long. “It’s… this one.”

He prodded a button. A horn blared.

“No. Not that one. But we’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Ollie ducked and covered her head as cannon-fire thudded against the aft shields, and a torpedo screamed by just above them.

“It’s going to be the last fonking thing you feel if you don’t find the guns,” Deadman grunted. He ground his teeth together. “And I thought your sister was bad?”

“Say what?” asked Kornack, turning in his chair.

“Ship!” Ollie squealed.

Kornack pushed on the yoke without looking, sending the ship into a plunging dive. “You know my sister? You know Shornack?”

Dan nodded. “She gave me a car.”

Kornack’s rocky eyebrows raised. “She did? Hoo-ha! I guess she must like you, huh?”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen the car,” Dan replied. He gripped the armrests of his chair. “Look out!”

Kornack turned in time for another torpedo to hit them. The lights on the bridge flickered off, then came back on much dimmer than before. Kornack swore creatively at the attacking ship, made a series of threatening hand gestures, then angrily went back to studying his manual.

“It’s got to be here,” he said. “I mean, the ship’s got guns. I saw the fonking guns. So the control has to be. Wait. I got it, I got it!”

He flicked a switch. “Hoo-ha, baby! Now we’re—”

A hatch opened above him, revealing an airlock door beyond. Kornack looked up just as a booster ignited beneath his seat. “Hey, what—?” was as far as he got before he was launched upwards. The inner airlock door clanked shut behind him. There was a faint hiss as the outer door opened.

Ollie and Dan both stared at the empty space where Kornack had been, then up at the ceiling. On screen, a squadron of fighter ships lined up for an attack run.

“Ah, shizz. So much for the pilot,” Dan muttered as his chair trundled forward to replace the missing one at the controls. The manual lay face down on the terminal, the pages splayed wide open and creased from where the book had fallen.

“You can do it, though, can’t you?” Ollie asked.

Dan looked down at the bewildering array of controls, then up at the onslaught of fighter ships closing in to destroy them.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know what any of this stuff does.”

“But you can drive a car!” Ollie pointed out.

Dan looked back over his shoulder at her. “Your point?”

“Well, it can’t be that different, can it?”

“Of course it is. It’s completely different.”

Ollie looked skeptical.

“Why are you doing that face? A car and a spaceship are two different things. It’s like saying, ‘Oh, you can swim? Then you must be a boat.’”

Ollie shook her head. “It’s not like saying that.”

“OK, no, it’s not like saying that. That was a bad analogy,” Dan admitted. “Sorry if I’m a little fonking stressed out with all the—”

Ollie thrust her hands forward, fingers splayed. Outside, six ships broke into their component parts, then imploded, collapsing in on themselves until they were perfect spheres of metal.

“Sorry, they were going to shoot us,” Ollie explained. She smiled encouragingly. “What were you saying?”

Dan glanced at the controls. He glanced at the manual. Then, with a shrug, he tossed it over his shoulder and gripped the stick. “Fonk it, doesn’t matter. Just do that again to all these other guys, and maybe we’ll get through this in one piece.”

* * *

Artur placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, an expression of contented satisfaction squeezed into the few visible features of his face that weren’t obscured by beard or eyebrows.

“I’m just going to come right out and say it,” he announced. “That right there was easily one of the top ten most erotic experiences of me whole life.”

“Shut up, or I’ll squish you under my boot,” Loren told him.

“And that just pushed it into me top five,” Artur replied. “Now, if ye’d offered to sit on me…”

“I’d stop there, man,” Mech told him. Something dangerous glinted in the cyborg’s eyes. “I mean it, if I were you, I’d stop there.”

Artur eyeballed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough. I was just saying, like, that was some spectacular violence ye unleashed back there. I mean, it was like art, the way ye were all pew pew and bloo bloo and what have ye. Poetry, so it was. Only, ye know, better, because people got blown up and killed.”

“Not people, exactly,” Kevin intoned. “I’m not sure who or what was actually flying those ships, but scans indicate they weren’t from any known species.”

“What about the station?” Loren asked. “Life signs?”

“Hard to say, ma’am.”

Mech tapped the controls on the screen in front of him, then his built-in sensors in his forearm. The more buttons he tried, the deeper his frown became.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked. “Scanner readouts are all over the place.”

Loren peered ahead through the debris field of broken ship parts. The skull-station leered at them. It had been facing them when they’d arrived, and it still faced them now, even after all her frantic space acrobatics, several of which she had done deliberately.

“It’s looking at us. It’s been looking at us this whole time,” she said.

Without any warning, Loren jammed the yoke forward, sending the Untitled into a dive. Artur yelped as he scrabbled to hold onto the seat belt, then flapped around on the end of it, clinging on for dear life.

With a screech of space brakes, Loren leveled the ship off again.

The skull-station was still staring at them. Straight at them.

“There’s no way something that size should be able to move so fast,” she said. “Kevin, fire a torpedo.”

“Missile, ma’am,” Kevin corrected. “And technically we launch—”

“Just do it.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Kevin replied.

There was a lengthy pause.

“At anything in particular, or…?”

“The station. The giant space station we’re here to destroy,” Loren said, squeezing the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. “The one that’s directly in front of us.”

“One missile ain’t gonna do shizz against that thing,” said Mech.

“Just wait,” said Loren.

There was a rumble from elsewhere in the ship, so faint it would have gone undetected, were they not poised waiting for it.

On screen, a ball of orange light streaked off in the direction of the leering space skull. Loren’s chair creaked as she leaned forward, whispering below her breath. “Come on, hit it. Hit it. Hit it.”

“Impact in three, two…” Kevin announced.

The missile passed like a ghost through the station’s outer hull.

“Uh… none,” Kevin concluded.

“Shizz. It’s not there. It’s a projection,” Loren said. She hauled back the throttle lever, firing the ship into reverse.

“It’s a what? What’s happening now?” asked Artur.

“It’s a trap,” Mech said. “We been set up. We have to get out of here before…”

A tuneless whistle rang out around the interior of the Currently Untitled. It came from further back in the ship somewhere, but the way it echoed made it difficult to say where.

“Kevin, seal the door!” Mech barked. He raised both arms, taking aim with his cannons as the door slid closed and locked in place.

“What’s the matter? What’s wi’ the whistlin’?” asked Artur.

“It’s him,” said Mech. “It’s Krone.”

Loren stood up and drew her blaster in one fluid motion.

“Krone? How can it be Krone?” she demanded. “Kevin! Show us.”

Kevin wasn’t one hundred percent sure what she wanted him to show them, exactly. To cover his bases, he filled the viewscreen with the various camera feeds from around the ship. Keeping their weapons trained on the door, Mech and Loren both checked the screen.

The kitchen, the corridor, the engine rooms, all empty. Same with the makeshift medical bay—where Miz’s body lay strapped to the cryo-slab—the bathroom, and all of the cabins but one. The final one showed nothing but static.

“Narp’s room,” Kevin explained. “Pardon my language, sirs and ma’am, but the horrible little ruffian did something to the camera.”

“That’s where he must be,” said Loren. Lowering her blaster a little, she crossed to the door. “Kevin, open up.”

“Wait, you can’t just go out there,” said Mech. “He’s gonna be waiting for us.”

“Then we’ll go in all guns blazing,” said Loren. “He killed Miz, Cal, and Splurt. He is not getting off this ship.”

She turned back to the door as it slid open. An unassuming man with thick goggle-glasses and an aura of pure, unmistakable evil, stood out there. He smiled at her, and the skin of her face almost crawled all the way around the back of her head in protest.

“Ah,” said Geronimus Krone, and something about his voice crept like an intruder into Loren’s head. “There you are.”

Sixteen

Cal stood, hands on hips, leaning back. Beside him, Other Cal hopped anxiously from foot to bare foot, biting his thumbnails down to the quick as he waited for the reaction. He tensed in anticipation as Cal whistled through his teeth.

“That is a lot of dead people,” Cal said, eyeing the towering mounds of human bones. He realized this was pretty non-committal, as responses went, so he punctuated it with a double thumbs-up and the most positive smile he could muster. “And the way you’ve piled them all up like that? You know… mountain style? That is… Well, I don’t know what it is, but it’s something.”

Other Cal seemed to have appreciated the double thumbs-up, so Cal fired him off another set, and added a point, wink and a click of the mouth for good measure.

Splurt stood between them. For reasons best known to himself, he had adopted the form of Columbo. Out of Columbo. He squinted at both Cals in turn and rubbed his head, an oversized cigar pinned between his first two fingers, his disheveled raincoat swishing as he moved.

“Piles. I made them,” Other Cal said.

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that,” Cal told him. “Good to have a hobby, I guess. The days must fly by.”

Cal thought back to the fifty long years he’d lived aboard the Binto Odyssey. It was only a few days since Space Team had arrived on the ship, but thanks to what he was choosing to describe as Some Fonking Time Thing, he’d lived out the rest of his life with only Splurt, some monsters, and the mostly inanimate bodies of his time-frozen crewmates for company.

But at least he’d had someone. Splurt may not have been the most sparkling conversationalist in the galaxy, but he was a trusted, loyal companion. Cal had always thought of the little guy as a friend, but during those five decades, he’d come to think of him first as a brother, and then as a son.

Then, very briefly, as a lover. But he’d locked that thought up in a tiny box at the back of his head the moment it had popped in there, and immediately thrown away the key.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing for the past thirty years?” Cal asked.

Other Cal nodded. He was still wary of Cal, but there was something curiously familiar about Columbo that helped to reassure some long-neglected part of his memory.

Cal wasn’t even sure where they were, exactly. Still in Philadelphia, he assumed, but the damage to the city and the dust-fog made it impossible to tell for sure. They had walked for a good couple of hours, Other Cal saying very little during the journey, and even less that made much sense.

“And where do you sleep?” Cal asked. “You do sleep, right?”

Other Cal nodded. He wrung his hands, unsure about whether to reveal where he lived, but he’d come this far, and something about Columbo’s squint made a happy feeling pop like bubbles on the surface of his brain.

Just the sight of him made Other Cal feel warm and safe and loved. He felt an arm around him, pulling him close. A soft chair beneath him. Snacks in a bowl between him and his...

Other Cal sobbed. It was a high-pitched animal squeal that made Cal jump back in alarm, and Columbo collapse back into a gelatinous green ball.

Years of psychological defenses kicked in, burying Other Cal’s memories, pushing them down into the darkness. He glanced around, as if trying to figure out where the cry had come from, then beckoned for Cal to follow him and backed away into the fog.

Cal leaned closer to Splurt. “So, do we think he found all these people, or killed them all?” he whispered, nodding at the closest bone pile.

Splurt rippled.

“Yeah, me neither, buddy,” said Cal. “But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

* * *

“Looks like that’s the last of them,” said Dan Deadman, searching the sky for any more ships. He kept half an eye out for Kornack, too. But only half of one, since Kornack was a brutal mass-murderer, and the galaxy was probably better off without him.

“OK,” said Ollie. Her face was slick with sweat, her breath coming in unsteady gulps. “That was harder than I thought.”

“You don’t have full control of your powers yet,” Dan reminded her. “Hell, we’re lucky you didn’t implode this ship, too.”

He had a quiet word with himself, then looked back at her. “Which is my way of saying that you did good, kid.”

Ollie’s eyes widened in surprise. “I did? Thanks. I mean… Wow. Thanks.”

She puffed up proudly. “I did do good, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t milk it,” Dan told her. “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

The ship made a series of clunking and grinding noises as Dan attempted to steer it in the direction of the station.

“Down a bit,” said Ollie. “No, down. That’s up.”

“I know. I’ve got it,” said Dan, adjusting the controls.

“No, down. Down. That’s it. Not that far down,” Ollie helpfully instructed. “Up. Go back up.”

“I can’t go back up! How do I… OK, I’m going back up.”

“You’re going right. Don’t go right.”

There was a brief moment of quiet.

“You’re still going right.”

“Fonk! Who designed this damn thing?” Dan spat. He hauled the stick angrily to the left.

“Now we’re spinning. We shouldn’t be spinning,” Ollie pointed out.

This continued for several minutes, until random chance stepped in to point them in the right direction.

“There! Now hold it,” said Ollie.

Dan held it. He wasn’t sure which part he was meant to be holding, exactly, so he held as many things as he could and hoped for the best.

“Now what?” Dan asked. Being careful to keep holding all the things, he nodded ahead to the skull-station. It leered at them like some Peeping Tom, and although Dan had seen a lot of weird, terrifying shizz in his time, something about the thing made what was left of his skin crawl. “Can you crush that thing?”

“It’s pretty big,” said Ollie. She flexed her fingers and puffed out her cheeks. “But I can try.”

“You sure? We might be able to find the guns,” Dan said. “If we can avoid the ejector seat.”

“No, I think I can do it,” said Ollie. She took a series of breaths, shook out her arms for a few seconds, then brought her hands up. “OK. Here goes.”

She concentrated. She still wasn’t exactly sure how her powers worked, and she didn’t ‘control’ them so much as ‘point them in the right direction’. The right direction here was pretty obvious, and although the station was several times larger than all the ships she’d crushed combined, she felt confident she was going to do some damage to this thing.

Any second.

Any second now.

She curled and straightened her fingers and pushed her hands out further.

This time.

“You started yet?” Dan asked.

“Doing it,” said Ollie.

She wasn’t.

“Doing… it.”

She still wasn’t.

“Maybe it’s too big,” Dan suggested.

Ollie dropped her arms. “No. It’s not that. With the ships, I could… feel them. Right before they collapsed, I mean, I could feel them sort of resisting. With the big face, I’m not getting that. I’m not getting anything.”

She quickly brought her hands up again, trying to catch the station off guard. Several seconds of groaning and twisting fingers later, she gave up.

“It’s like it’s not even there,” she said.

And that was when the whistling started.

It rang out from right behind Ollie’s chair. Flat. Tuneless. Oddly terrifying.

She turned. Dan, reckoning he’d held everything for long enough, turned, too.

There, standing on the bridge, was a small, aging man. He smiled at them as he breathed on the lenses of his glasses and polished them on the front of his shirt.

“Who the fonk are you?” asked Dan, although he already knew the answer. Of course he did. He’d seen the man’s face in the media hundreds of times.

Only when he’d checked his spectacles for streaks, and then put them back on, did the man answer. “I’m Geronimus Krone,” he said. He clicked his fingers, and a digital countdown appeared in the air beside him. “And welcome to the final few moments of existence.”

* * *

Ronda spasmed. It was short and shocking and violent, and Narp cried out in panic as she thrashed around in the chair.

“Mom? Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”

A trickle of blood dribbled from Ronda’s nose, over her thin lips, and down her chin. Her head lolled forward as unconsciousness showed its mercy and pulled her to its chest. The sight of Ronda slumped over and bleeding ramped Narp’s panic levels up several notches.

“Mom! Mom, what’s happening?”

Wheezing, Ronda raised a shaky finger to the skull-shaped station ahead. “N-not there. Not r-real.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Narp yelped. He checked his screens. The readings were weird, but there was definitely something out there. He turned back to his mom. “I don’t get—”

He stopped when he realized his view of his mother was blocked by a small man with big glasses, who had appeared directly between them.

Narp tried to scramble clear, but his seat belt held him in place. He recoiled as the stranger leaned down and smiled at him. It was not a pleasant smile. It was, if anything, the polar opposite of one.

“So much for her premonition,” said Geronimus Krone. He clicked his fingers. A clock appeared floating in the empty space beside him. As Narp watched, it began to count down. “Looks like she didn’t see this one coming.”

* * *

“Boys, get behind me,” Nana Joan urged, beckoning Higgsy and Alan closer.

They didn’t need telling twice. Both teens almost tripped over one another—Higgsy more so than as Alan—as they scrambled over to where Nana Joan stood and squeezed themselves in behind her.

At the other end of the bridge, Geronimus Krone chuckled. “Trust me. Won’t help,” he said.

“You’re not getting near them,” Nana warned.

“I don’t have to,” Krone said. His eyes flicked to the countdown clock hovering beside him. “Maybe you could protect them from me. But from the Apocalypse? I don’t think so.”

He tucked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “It’s over. Your plan. It was never going to work. You came here to die.”

His mouth twisted into a cruel mockery of a grin. “Just like everyone else.”

* * *

Loren opened fire. For a moment, the interior of the bridge flared red, then the blaster bolt tore along the corridor and exploded against the rear hatch.

Geronimus Krone sniggered. “Is this the point I say, ‘Ow’?” he asked.

Loren reached out to prod him in the chest, but he was as insubstantial as the skull-station outside. She shuddered as he walked straight through her and onto the bridge.

“Holy shoite, is that a ghost?” asked Artur. “I’ve never met an actual ghost before. Well, once, but he was an arsehole, so I try not to talk about him.”

“Kevin, where’s this coming from?” asked Mech.

“There appears to be a projector of sorts inside the pretend space station, sir,” Kevin said. “It seems to be transmitting this, too. Although, how he’s achieving the audio, I’m afraid I have no clue. Magic, perhaps? Or science? I wouldn’t like to say for sure, but most likely one of those, or possibly something else.”

“Thanks for narrowing it down,” Loren said.

“What the fonk is this about?” Mech demanded, stepping forward to block the intruder’s path, even though this had already proven to be impossible.

Krone stopped and looked up at Mech with such intensity the cyborg’s automatic defense systems forced him to take a step back.

“So many empty chairs,” Krone said. He bit his bottom lip. “Aw. How terribly sad.”

Mech’s instincts told him to take a swing at the patronizing fonk, to knock his head clean off. But what would be the point? He wasn’t here, and even if he had been, last time they’d met he’d tossed Mech around like he was made of cardboard.

Krone clicked his fingers and a countdown appeared in the air beside him. It followed him, so that when he moved, it moved, too.

“What’s that?” asked Artur.

“It’s a countdown,” Loren realized.

“A countdown? To what?” asked Artur.

Krone sniffed. “To the end. Of all…” He gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. “…this.”

He folded his hands behind his back and paced around the bridge. He looked quite cheerful and relaxed, like a tourist enjoying the sights on vacation.

“I deliberately timed it all for now, you see? I wanted our previous encounter to happen before I destroyed everything, so that you’d know why I was doing this. Why I was punishing you. I had a lot of time to figure this all out, you see? We were lost in time for… well, long enough,” Krone explained. “But I knew we would escape eventually. And I knew that, however long it took, I would make you all pay.”

“You already took over the motherfonking galaxy,” Mech said. “What else do you want?”

Krone huffed noisily through his mouth. “I didn’t want that, for one thing. I mean, ruling the cosmos. Who wants that? All those sectors and systems and planets to keep in line. Trade disputes to sort out, warring factions to control. Ugh. No. Not for me, but it was something to keep the generals busy while I focused on my own, more important work.”

He held his arms out at his sides and threw back his head. “The destruction of the Universe!”

“Why? What’s the point?” Loren asked.

Krone hesitated, as if the idea of there being some purpose behind it hadn’t really occurred to him. “Well, because I can,” he said. “And because why should everyone else get to live, when I don’t?”

He gestured in Mech’s direction. “As I told your friend there back on my ship, I’m dying. Left to my own devices, I would have a few months, perhaps. Most of it spent growing weaker. Less able.”

Krone shook his head, just briefly. “So why not go out in style? Why not take this whole filthy diseased Universe with me? Hard reset. Back to square one.” He clapped his hands together with such sudden ferocity that Artur almost fell off his seat.

“And what do your generals have to say about that?” asked Mech. “Or haven’t you told them?”

“They’re dead,” Krone said. He shrugged. “Had to be done. They were starting to ask questions. Getting too big for their boots.”

He approached the viewscreen. “I felt it only right for them to be involved, though, so…”

Krone made a little fanfare noise. Outside, the skull-shaped station vanished. In its place was what looked like a humanoid shape, just a little larger than the average man. A bright light glowed where its head should have been. Images flickered across it, too small and far away to see.

“They called that one ‘War.’ Well, among other names. He was fiercely loyal to the cause. Truly fearsome in battle. Slaughtered millions.” Krone chuckled. “Good times. It seemed only right to give him and the others some role to play. So… ta-daa! I beheaded them one by one, and then turned them into fancy lamps. I like to think they’d be grateful.”

Loren glanced at the countdown clock. There were only a few minutes left now.

“We’ll stop you,” she told him. “We’ll stop this.”

“Will you? That’ll be fun,” said Krone. “How do you propose to do that?”

Loren opened her mouth, but nothing clever came out. She looked to Mech for help.

“We’ll find a way,” was the best he could come up with.

“OK! Well, good luck with that,” Krone said. He turned, as if to leave, then stopped. “Oh, but there’s one thing I should warn you,” he said.

He clicked his fingers. The floating countdown raced all the way to zero. “This clock’s running a little slow.”

And with that, the end began.

* * *

“N-Nana?”

Higgsy’s voice was a scratchy whisper of fear that took three or four attempts to make itself audible.

“Not now, Higgsy,” said Nana. She was still holding Krone’s gaze, refusing to back down.

Alan tugged on the hem of her cardigan. “Nana. You gotta see this.”

Tutting, Nana Joan glanced down, then quickly snapped her head back up to find Krone gone.

“Nana, p-please, look,” pleaded Higgsy.

“What is it, boys?” she demanded, turning.

A flare of orange light illuminated the bridge through the window, picking out every one of the wrinkles on Nana’s weathered skin.

Her eyes widened.

Her jaws dropped.

“Oh, my poor, poor boys,” she whispered.

* * *

Narp glanced back at the suddenly empty bridge to make sure the coast was clear, then unclipped his belt and gave his mom a shake.

“Hey! Hey, Mom. Wake up!” he urged. “Come on, wake up.”

Ronda groaned. Her eyes flickered, then swam, then became sharply focused as she caught Narp by the throat and slammed him backward onto the console.

“Mom!” he wheezed.

“Narp! Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, releasing her grip and smoothing the front of his shirt. “I didn’t mean.. I wasn’t…”

She dabbed at her nose and found the blood there. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Some guy was here. I think… I think it was Krone,” Narp said. “He had a clock, and he said some stuff and he…”

“Narp.”

“And he was fonking scary, Mom! And you were… I thought you were…”

“Narp, it’s fine,” said Ronda, soothingly. She unclipped her belt, stood up, and pulled her son in close. “It’s OK. It’s OK.”

“I thought you were dead,” Narp sobbed.

Ronda pressed the back of his head against her shoulder and held her son as his body heaved. Held him like she hadn’t done in years. Held him like she knew she never would again.

On screen, unseen by Narp, the Universe was dying.

* * *

Dan Deadman and Ollie stood alone on the bridge of their ship, watching the blackness of space crack open.

The orange lines that tore across the screen in all directions resembled lightning in many ways, but rather than appear then disappear like regular lightning, this stuff appeared, then hung around. The jagged fork stretched across the vast vista before them, each one stretching millions of miles from end to end.

Krone was gone. That was something. Neither of them felt like listening to that shizznod monologuing while the Universe was torn asunder around them. He had vanished as silently as he’d appeared, leaving the two of them to watch events unfolding together.

“Can we do something?” Ollie whispered. “Can we fix it?”

Deadman exhaled through his nose. He didn’t normally breathe, so this was something he saved for big occasions. He was pretty sure this qualified.

“I doubt it, kid,” he said. “We’ve been set up.”

“Maybe the others can do something?” said Ollie, but the tone of her voice and the way her face knotted up in worry said she didn’t actually believe it.

“Yeah,” said Dan, humoring her. “Maybe.”

He was still getting used to his new arms, but he felt her hand slip into his. He tensed momentarily, then relaxed. He wanted to apologize to her. He’d told her he’d keep her safe, and that was looking pretty fonking unlikely now.

They watched another fork of light crack open infinity ahead of them.

“I guess it’s kind of pretty,” Ollie said.

Dan enjoyed another exhale, safe in the knowledge that he didn’t have many left.

“Yeah, kid,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I guess it kind of is.”

* * *

“Whoa! What the fonk was that?” asked Cal, staggering as the ground rumbled beneath him. “Hey, other me?” he shouted into the dust clouds. “Is that normal? Is that a thing that happens around here?”

Other Cal emerged from the mist beside him, making Cal jump in fright. His eyes were wide, his face a mask of bearded terror.

“Not normal. No, sir. Not normal.”

The rumbling stopped. Cal held his breath for a moment, then relaxed. “It’s fine. Seems to have passed,” he said, then the ground ahead of them erupted as a blinding column of fire roared up from beneath the surface, reaching for the Heavens above. The heat of it incinerated the surrounding dust, giving Cal his first glimpse of a sky that was clearly well into the process of tearing itself apart.

Cal swallowed.

“Uh, hey, other me? You know I said I promised to get you out of here?” Cal managed to assemble the least convincing smile in the entire history of his face. “I may have spoken a tiny bit too soon.”

Seventeen

Both Cals ran. They weren’t sure where, exactly, but the why was pretty self-evident. The ground behind them collapsed, dragging Other Cal’s bone piles into the growing column of fire.

Soon, they couldn’t run fast enough. Splurt wrapped two long limbs around them, becoming some sort of gelatinous octopus creature that leaped and bounded across the crumbling landscape.

“My Piles! My Piles!” Other Cal wailed.

Cal winced. “Fonk, that guy’s had it rough,” he muttered, then he saw the last of the bone mountains collapsing into the Earth. “Oh, those piles.”

The sky above them was ablaze with color. Orange mostly, with some red in there, too. It had a general ‘this whole place is totally on fire’ feel to it that Cal found troubling. Particularly as the flames were spreading faster than Splurt was moving.

The column of flame was still behind them, widening with every moment that passed. The burning sky ahead looked almost as threatening, though, and it hit Cal then, as Splurt leaped a widening crack, that running was useless. There was nowhere to run. The planet was tearing itself apart. The galaxy was cracking open.

The Universe was falling, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Splurt, stop,” he said. He sounded calm and measured, and no one was more surprised by that than him. “It’s OK, buddy,” he insisted, resting a hand on the giant gloopy tentacle that was currently wrapped protectively around him. “It’s OK. You can stop now.”

And he did. Splurt slowed, stumbled a little, then came to a halt in an uneven outline of what had once been a building. The flickering reds and oranges of the sky shone against his gooey greenness, making it dance. His eyes shone as they stared at Cal, offering something not unlike an apology.

“Hey, you cut that out,” Cal told him. “None of this is your fault, buddy. There was nothing you could do.”

Splurt lowered both Cals to the ground. His giant frame slithered and warped, becoming an elderly woman in a colorful smock.

Cal smiled and shook his head. “No. Thank you for being a friend,” he said, then Dorothy out of The Golden Girls collapsed into a lumpy green sphere a little smaller than a basketball and nuzzled Cal’s leg.

Cal extended a hand to Other Cal. “I’m assuming the universe doesn’t blow up if we touch each other,” he said. “But at this stage, I guess it doesn’t really matter all that much. You know what with…”

With the other hand he thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of the ever-growing column of fire.

“…and everything.”

Other Cal regarded the hand curiously. Then, slowly and unsurely, he extended his own. Cal shook it gently, so as not to alarm him.

“That’s it. That’s all there is to it,” Cal said.

They continued to shake hands.

“You can… I mean, it doesn’t normally go on for this long, but I guess we’ve got time.”

Other Cal’s eyes flicked in the direction of the fire column. Cal clicked his fingers. “No. Here. Look at me. Don’t worry about that. Look at me.”

He tightened his grip on Other Cal’s hand. “You did great, kid. After what he did to you? After what he put you through? No one could’ve asked for anything more. Mom and Dad… My god, they’d have been proud of you.”

Other Cal’s face crumbled like the terrain beside them. His eyes screwed tightly shut, but not tightly enough to hold back the tears. Mom. Dad.

He remembered.

Oh, god, he remembered.

Cal pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around the much frailer version of himself, protecting him from something that couldn’t be stopped. There’d be no healing from this one. No coming back for either of them.

“It’s over,” Cal whispered. Reaching down with one hand, he gave Splurt a comforting pat on the head. “It’s over.”

A rectangle of blue light rose up from the ground beside them. A short, stocky figure carrying an ax almost as big as himself, appeared.

“Fit’r ye staunin’ aroon’ here fur, mannie?” he asked. “Is ye wintin’ tae escap’ fae a’ this, or wit?”

Cal had understood maybe three of those words in total, but he picked up the sentiment loud and clear. He stepped back from Other Cal and pointed back and forth between them both.

“OK, so you think this was weird?” he said. Grabbing Other Cal by the wrist, he pulled him toward the crackling blue doorway. “This shizz is going to blow your fonking mind.”

* * *

Artur didn’t know much about spaceships. He wasn’t all that clued-up on holographic projections, or Universe-ending despots, or pretty much anything else that was currently going on.

He’d thought about getting involved—maybe violently inserting himself up this Krone fella’s arse, feet first and kicking—but he’d vanished off to feck-knew-where before Artur could make his move, and that had pretty much been that.

He sat at the back of the bridge and sang as the Universe died. It was a song his dear old mammy had taught him, and told tales of a land across the sea where giants and fairy folk roamed.

There was also quite a rude bit in the middle that went into quite harrowing detail about the process of conception and some of the more popular methods and positions available. Strictly speaking, he’d added those three verses himself at a much later date, but in the interests of completeness, he elected to keep them in.

Loren stood at the screen by Mech’s side. There was no point flying the ship now. Where would they go? Space was an abstract series of fractures as far as the eye could see, and sensor readouts suggested it was no better anywhere else.

“So, I guess that’s that,” said Mech, as Artur’s voice lilted around the bridge, singing something about a missionary with a dog. Another crack split the Heavens. It stretched all the way across the viewscreen from one side to the other. The light from it flitted and danced across Mech’s metal frame.

“Sure looks like it,” Loren said.

Artur’s song became a haunting melody about a cowgirl.

“It’s been an honor serving with you, Gunso Loren,” Mech said, eyes fixed dead ahead.

“Please,” said Loren. “Call me Teela.”

Mech nodded. “Fair enough. In that case—and I do not say this lightly—you can call me Gluk Disselpoof.”

Loren snorted. “Such an unfortunate name.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And you may both call me Kevin,” said Kevin.

“We always call you…” Mech began, then he shot an appreciative glance up at the ceiling. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” said Kevin. “I, uh…”

Loren looked up. “What is it?”

There was a pause. “Well, you see, ma’am, I’m afraid…”

His voice trailed off.

“Afraid what? You’ve accidentally activated the self-destruct? You forgot to close the landing ramp?”

Mech gestured out at what was left of space. “You’re the one responsible for blowing up the Universe?” he guessed.

“No. None of those,” said Kevin. “I’m just… afraid.”

In the moments that followed, Artur sang with inexplicable passion and conviction about the number sixty-nine, but nobody else said a word.

“Yeah, man,” said Mech, after a while. “Us too.”

“Feck me, ye’re a maudlin’ shower o’ bastards,” Artur said, abandoning his song. “In hindsight, I should’ve stuck wi’ Deadman. Him and Ollie are probably having a high old time to themselves.”

Another space hole opened in the sky before Mech and Loren. They were so used to seeing them now that it took a few moments to realize this one was not like the others. It was blue, for one thing, rectangular for another.

It was also roughly the same size as the ship.

“Is that…?”

“Looks like a portal,” Mech said. “Some kind of doorway.”

“Should we go through?” Loren asked. She shook her head. “What am I saying? Kevin! Can we squeeze through there?”

“That depends, ma’am.”

“On what?”

“On which one of us is flying at the time.”

Loren sighed. “Fine. I get it. You do it.”

“No, ma’am. That’s the thing. All this collapsing Universe business is playing havoc with my sensor arrays, and scrambling my navigation circuits,” Kevin said. “Also, one of the taillights has gone out, but I think it’s just the bulb. My point is, if we’re going to get through there, then I’m afraid that you’ll have to be the one to do it.”

Mech groaned. “Well, so much for that glimmer of hope.”

“Indeed, sir,” Kevin agreed. “Still, on the bright side, we don’t exactly have much to lose at this point, do we?”

“Guys, come on, I can do this,” said Loren. She slid into her chair and spun to the controls. “I can do this.”

“Wait!” Artur cried. He had jumped down from his seat and was scurrying across the floor toward her. “Not yet. Not until I give you something.”

“Just fonking try it,” Loren warned.

“It’s nothing untoward,” Artur said, skidding to a stop at her feet. He rummaged inside his beard, then produced a gemstone barely as large as his palm. It was a sea-green color, with four leaf-like shapes sprouting from a circle in the center. He stood on tiptoes and held it up for Loren to take.

“What’s this?” she asked, plucking it gently from his grip.

“It’s one of me lucky charms. I keep them well-hidden, because the bastards are always after them.”

Loren frowned. “Who?”

“Just, ye know, the bastards in general,” Artur said.

Loren rubbed the tiny jewel between her index finger and thumb. “Thank you,” she said.

“No bother, Princess,” Artur said. He winked at her. “If ye get us out of this, I’ve another lucky charm I’ll show ye, too. It’s bigger than that one. Much bigger. If ye know what I’m saying?”

He winked again.

“It’s my penis, is the point I was making. I was trying to be subtle, like, but time’s against us, so…”

Loren flicked the gemstone across the bridge, then spun back to face front.

“Ye ungrateful shoite,” Artur muttered as he turned and hurried off to retrieve it.

On screen, the blue rectangle loomed ahead and slightly to the left. Behind it, orange cracks crisscrossed the endless void of space. There were more cracks now than there was darkness, and those bits that were still black were completely devoid of stars.

It was now, or it was never.

Loren gripped the yoke. She could do this. It was just like the simulator she’d trained on, if you ignored the portal to nowhere, the end of all existence, and the fact that the lives of everyone aboard rested on her shoulders.

Also, the controls were all different. Otherwise, though, it was identical.

“OK,” she said. She flexed her fingers, cricked her neck, then got herself into position. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Cal, Other Cal, other Other Cal and Splurt all stumbled through the doorway just as the column of fire obliterated the ground where they’d been standing. The blue rectangle collapsed into nothing as they all fell through together, landing on lush green grass in a tangle of arms, legs and squidgy green bits.

Cal wheezed into the grass, getting his breath back and enjoying the feeling of not being dead. “Grass. God, actual grass! I’ve missed grass,” he said, rubbing his face through it and savoring the way the soft blades tickled his nose.

He flopped over onto his back and laughed out loud. “Sky!” he cried. “Actual sky. With clouds. Beautiful, beautiful clouds. And the sun.”

Cal raised a hand and waved. “Mr Sun. Look at him up there.”

Exhaustion flopped his arm back down. He squinted at a shape silhouetted against the clear blue sky. “And a dragon,” he said dreamily. “A big happy dragon.”

Cal sat up, suddenly alert. “There’s a dragon! Jesus Christ, there’s a fonking dragon! Where the hell are we?”

“Dinnae fash yersel’. Wir jist passin’ through, ken?” said the ax-wielding dwarf.

Other Cal stared at him, mesmerized. Despite the metal cap where the top of the little man’s skull should have been, there was no denying the similarities between all three of them.

“Fit ye gogglin’ at me like ‘at fur?” asked the dwarf. He placed a clenched fist at the side of his head in a sort of salute. “Ahm Cairver Eighty-Three o’ the Cairver Cooncil.”

“Dragon!” Cal cried, stabbing a finger up at the enormous winged lizard currently circling in a downward spiral toward them.

“Och, quit yer whinin’ like wee quine,” grunted Carver Eighty-Three. He tapped a button on a remote control and another doorway opened. Grabbing Splurt under one arm, and grabbing Other Cal by the wrist, Cal threw himself into the fizzing blue light, and vanished.

Carver Eighty-Three paused just outside the doorway. “Haw! Iain!” he bellowed to the dragon. “Kip an ee on the place fan I’m oot, widje? Mak’ sure abody bides here.”

The dragon flicked its tail and nodded its imposing head in response.

“Gid lad,” said Eighty-Three. Then, with another salute, he jumped through the doorway and into the whole other Universe waiting on the other side.

* * *

One of Loren’s eyes opened. It swung around, searching up, down, left, right, but not seeing much of anything.

The rest of Loren appeared to still be unconscious, so there wasn’t much more it could do for the moment. Nothing productive, anyway. All it could do was wait for the rest of her to wake up, so it could get a proper look at whatever fresh hell they’d found themselves in now.

It waited.

And waited.

Badom-bom-bom.

Well, this was boring.

It blinked, but that didn’t exactly kill much time.

It blinked again, more slowly.

Technically winked, it supposed.

It smelled something. Burning, it thought. That meant the nose was waking up, too. Good sign. If the nose was stirring, then it shouldn’t be long until—

Loren jumped awake, lifting her head from her console and throwing herself back in her seat with a sharp, sudden, “Waayrrck!” that she immediately hoped nobody else had heard.

Smoke poured in through several vents around the bridge. Lights flashed. Alarms wailed. Something repeatedly stabbed her in the base of the skull with a fork. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like. She slapped a hand on the back of her neck to make sure Artur wasn’t back there doing…

Actually, she didn’t want to think about what he might be doing.

The pain worsened, but only a little, and there was no blood to indicate she’d sustained anything more serious than a raging headache.

On screen, everything was shades of yellow and brown. For a moment, she thought all those cracks had joined forces to form one all-consuming hole, but this stuff wasn’t glowing, and it was much closer up.

Some of the yellow swirled up across the screen, spinning on a gentle breeze. Sand, Loren realized. She had landed in sand.

Landed being a generous way to describe it.

“Still made it through the hole,” she announced to nobody in particular.

“Did you, ma’am?” asked Kevin. His voice peaked a little on the ‘you’, as if his levels weren’t set correctly. “Running diagnostics,” he announced.

There was a lengthy pause.

“My word. You did,” he said, his tone rising and falling twice over the course of those four words. He sang out a high-pitched, “Laaaaaaaaaaaaa!” and Loren winced as his audio pitch dropped to a stomach-worrying rumble, peaked to an ear-splitting scream, then settled somewhere in the middle.

“We seem to have survived mostly in one piece, too,” Kevin said. “I mean, we’re half-buried in a hillside and on fire, but still… I’d call that a result, ma’am.”

A small shape, no larger than a six-inch-tall man in a dress—exactly that size, in fact—plunged from the pipework near the ceiling, then hit the floor with a thud and a “Bollocks!”

Loren leaned over in her chair to find Artur lying face down on the floor. “Holy shoite,” he groaned, flopping himself onto his back. Half his hair was sticking straight up, his nose was bleeding, and he’d lost one of his strappy red shoes. He coughed wetly into his beard, then grinned, showing a gap in his teeth. “Now that was a fecking landing!”

“You OK?” Loren asked.

Artur’s smile widened. “See? I knew ye cared!” he said. “I’m fine, Princess. It’ll take more than a little spaceship crash to stop me. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding internally, and I can’t feel me hands, or recall me name, but where I come from we call that a good night out.”

“Where’s Mech?” Loren asked. If she and Artur had survived the crash, then chances are the ship’s only semi-indestructible cyborg crew member had, too, but she couldn’t see him anywhere on the bridge.

“Uh, I’m afraid I don’t know, ma’am,” Kevin said. “Might he have fallen out, perhaps?”

“Fallen out?” said Loren. “How could he have fallen out of a magnetically sealed spaceship?”

“Through a window?” Kevin guessed.

Before Loren could answer there was a grinding and squeaking of moving metal. She grabbed for her chair as the Untitled tilted backward, sending Artur staggering against the base of Cal’s seat.

Loren’s panic passed quickly when she saw the hulking metal figure through the screen. He had two hands pressed against the front of the ship, and was heaving it into an upright position on the sand.

He nodded to Loren. “Sensors say you’re awake in there,” he said, and his voice came at her through speakers on either side of the screen. “Thought I’d leave you sleeping.”

Loren flicked a switch on her console, silencing the alarms and restoring the ship’s interior lighting. “Told you I could make it,” she said.

Mech’s metal jaw curved into a smirk. “You know, there ain’t many people who’d count flying nose-first into a motherfonking mountain as a success,” he said.

“Hey! We’re alive, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he said. His smile faded, his face becoming markedly more serious. “Now you might want to get out here.”

“Shizz. Why? Where have we landed? Is the ship ruined?” she asked.

Mech glanced off screen, then looked back at her, somehow meeting her gaze via the screen. “Just get out here. There’s something you should probably see.”

He straightened the ship the rest of the way, vanishing out of sight below the screen.

“Fonk. What now?” Loren wondered. She got to her feet, ignoring the wooziness that being upright brought, and fumbled for her blaster.

“Ye might want to take it easy there,” Artur told her. “Ye’re looking kinda blurry around the edges.”

He blinked several times and squinted. “Although, that might just be me.”

“I’m fine,” Loren grunted. “Wait here.”

“And miss out on all the excitement? Bollocks to that.”

“Then keep up, and stay quiet,” Loren said.

“I can guarantee fifty percent of that,” Artur replied. “The other half’s unlikely, I’ll be honest wit’ ye.”

“Just stop talking. Stealth mode,” Loren urged. “OK?”

Artur sighed. “Fine. I’ll try and stay quiet. I’m just, by nature, quite a chatty person. Ye know, friendly like?”

Deciding she’d wasted enough time on this conversation already, Loren crept out into the corridor. The landing ramp was lowered, showing a rectangle of desert outside.

She kept her gun low but ready as she side-stepped silently along the corridor, ready for anything. Mech hadn’t seemed overly worried, but there was a definite note of concern in his voice and written on his face, and her years of training with Zertex, plus these past handful of months with Space Team, had taught her you could never be too careful.

Particularly if you were sitting in front of Cal while traveling at warp speed.

She reached the end of the corridor and raised the blaster up to head height. She held her breath, steeled her nerves, and steadied her racing heart.

“Careful, ma’am,” said Kevin from a wall-mounted speaker right behind her.

Loren jumped. “Fonk! Shh!” she hissed. “Shut up!”

“Charming,” Kevin intoned. “I was just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t!”

“Are we allowed to talk now?” asked Artur. It was only now that it occurred to Loren how loud a voice he had for such a tiny man. “Thank feck for that, I thought me mouth was going to explode trying to hold everything in.”

“No! Shh!” Loren urged.

Mech’s voice rose up the ramp to meet her. “Everything OK in there? You coming out or what?”

Loren glared at both the wall-speaker and Artur, then turned and stomped down the ramp, gun lowered but in such a way that anyone seeing it would be painfully aware of how quickly it could be raised again.

The clonk of the ramp became the paff of sand beneath Loren’s boots. Mech gleamed in the dazzling sunshine, and Loren had to cup a hand around her eyes to be able to see anything.

“So, what’s the big emergency?” she asked.

She blinked as she looked around, trying to clear the glowing sunspots floating before her eyes.

A figure stood silhouetted a short distance away across the sand. From its outline, it seemed to have two heads.

She blinked.

No, not two heads. One head, and something sitting on its shoulder the same size as…

Her gun landed in the sand beside her. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Hey, honey,” said Cal. “I’m home!”

Loren’s legs started to run all on their own, carrying her toward him.

“Cal?!” she cried, the word coming out warily, like it daren’t believe what it was saying was true. “Cal!”

He laughed and held his arms open. Splurt grew a small set of arms and held those open, too.

Halfway there, Loren felt several sets of eyes on her. Glancing right, she saw a small crowd assembled, their faces covered by desert robes designed to protect them from the sun. She got the impression they were watching, though, and suddenly felt very self-conscious about this whole joy-filled-running-reunion business.

The sand bunched up around her boots as she skidded to a stop just in front of Cal. The smile that had lit up her face became more measured and controlled, as a hint of red colored the blue of her cheeks.

“Hey… you! You’re alive,” she said, sweeping a strand of hair back over her ear. “That’s great! Both of you, I mean. You and Splurt. You’re both alive. Haha!” Loren mimed wiping sweat from her brow. “Phew. You had us worried for a while back there.”

Cal seemed to notice his arms were still held open, and dropped them to his sides. Ever the optimist, Splurt kept his own held out in a hug-ready position.

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, we’re alive,” Cal said. “And… so are you.”

“Yes!” Loren agreed. She laughed for reasons she wasn’t all that sure of, checked they were still being watched, then quickly looked away again.

“Nice landing,” said Cal, indicating the ship. “Your work?”

“All me,” Loren said. “It, uh, it looks worse than it actually is.”

“Emergency fire extinguishing procedures commencing,” announced Kevin. There was a whoooosh and several hundred gallons of foam poured out from within the ship.

Loren side-stepped neatly in front of it, blocking Cal’s view. “But, yeah. It’s really great to see you. What happened?”

Cal shrugged. “Oh, you know. We were sent to this timeline’s Earth, where Krone had killed everyone but me. Because there was a me there. Another me, I mean, not me me. Like, a different me. Apparently, when Krone changed the past, we became sort of leftovers from the original timeline or… I don’t know. Something. There was a lot of science involved. They drew a graph.”

“Who did?” asked Loren. She flicked her eyes in the direction of the covered onlookers. “Those guys?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Well, not exactly,” said Cal. “We’ll explain it all soon.”

Mech thumped up to join them.

“So, we’re all back together,” Mech said.

“Space together,” Cal corrected.

“Shut the fonk up.”

“And not all of us,” said Loren. All their eyes darted in the direction of the ship, roughly where Miz’s body would be lying, assuming the crash hadn’t catapulted it against a wall.

“No, I know,” said Mech. “I just meant… You know.”

“Yeah. We get it,” said Cal. He patted Mech on the arm, then cried out in pain as his skin hissed. “Jesus Christ that’s hot!” he yelped, tucking his hand under the opposite armpit. “How are you not on fire?”

From behind them came a series of frantic yelps. “Ow! Ooh! Bollocks!” yapped Artur, hopping through the hot sand, still wearing just one plastic shoe. Mech reached down to pick him up, but Cal intervened.

“Are you nuts? You’ll fry him like an egg,” he pointed out, cupping his hands in front of the tiny man. Artur hopped gratefully aboard and sighed with relief.

“Oh, thank feck for that,” he said. “Sure, last time I was that hot I was up a boorbo’s arse, showing him who was boss. Not something I recommend, by the way, if any of ye were considering it.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep that in mind,” said Cal. He looked around for somewhere to put Artur, then placed him on the opposite shoulder to Splurt.

Both of Cal’s passengers shot each other suspicious sideways looks.

“Ye got a problem there, snotball?” Artur asked.

Splurt continued to watch him.

“I don’t like being stared at,” Artur said. “Eyes front.”

One of Splurt’s eyes faced front. The other remained locked on Artur.

“Both eyes, I meant.”

Splurt’s other eye joined the first in looking forward. A third eye grew beside it, and continued watching Artur.

Loren leaned back and looked up at the sky. It was a shade of green more commonly associated with the ocean, and the few clouds she could see were tinted at the edges in shades of purple.

“Where are we?” she asked. “What planet is this?”

“It isn’t,” said Cal. “I mean, it is, obviously, but it doesn’t have a name. This whole universe doesn’t have a name, in fact.”

“This whole universe? What do you mean?” Loren asked. “So, we’re not in our universe?”

“That’s gone,” Mech said. “Krone won.”

Loren’s head went light again. She fought to keep her feet planted and not lose her balance.

“Shizz. Wow. So it’s gone gone?”

Cal nodded.

“Krone won? As in…”

“As in won won,” Cal confirmed.

“Feck me,” Artur mumbled.

Loren could feel anger, grief and a thousand other emotions in between all bubbling up inside her like magma. She pushed them down as best she could.

“Wow. OK. So… different universe. That explains the portal. And I guess that means that they are…”

She turned to the assembled onlookers. There were fifteen of them gathered there, all watching beneath their desert wraps.

“Yep,” said Cal, as all fifteen fired fingerguns in Loren’s direction. “It’s the Carver Council!”

Eighteen

The whole idea of the Carver Council had been one that Other Cal—now given the codename ‘Carver 100’ in the interests of brevity and convenience—had struggled to get his head around.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been alone. Sure, he had the occasional flashback to the days before the spaceships came, and for two years back in the mid-90s an imaginary hippo named Walter had rarely left his side, but by and large, he’d spent the last thirty years or so utterly and completely alone.

Discovering there were other people out there had been mind-blowing. Discovering that an entire dimension-hopping galactic council made up of a range of different versions of himself could be counted among that number didn’t just blow his mind, but threatened to destroy it completely.

Eventually, with some coaxing from Cal—who the others referred to as ‘Carver 99’—Other Cal had put down the knife, stopped screaming, and listened to what the council’s leader, Carver Prime, had to say.

This, in itself, had the potential to send Other Cal right off the deep end, as Carver Prime was an alternate reality version of Lily, the daughter Other Cal never grew up to have, but everyone had agreed it was probably best not to mention that fact for the moment, and an inevitable full mental breakdown had been avoided.

They had come together when the multiverse was threatened, Carver Prime explained. Cal Carvers from over ninety different versions of reality had been assembled to stop a world-killing sentient space cloud before it could consume every existing version of planet Earth.

Carver 100 had been able to follow along with pretty much none of what Lily had told him. Cal had reassured him that he hadn’t really grasped a lot of it when he’d first had it explained to him, either, but that you picked most of it up as you went along and anything you didn’t, probably wasn’t all that important anyway.

That had been an hour ago. Since then, the newly-crowned Carver 100 had been given some shoes, a change of clothes, and a shave. He’d also almost defecated on the floor twice, before being intercepted and directed to a bathroom in one of the temporary cabins set up in the shadow of a rocky overhang, shaded from the blazing desert sun.

“Well, look at you!” Cal told him as he led Loren and Mech into the tent the council had designated Emergency Command Center Five. There were no Emergency Command Centers One through Four, but the Cals had all agreed that adding ‘Five’ to the end made the whole thing sound cooler, so had gone with it. The council members had many differences, but most of them were still Cal Carver at heart.

Cal 100 stood up from the Ghostbusters beanbag he had been sitting on, rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his desert robes, then thrust both hands out for Cal and Loren to shake.

“OK, one at a time, buddy,” Cal told him, taking the right hand and shaking it. He winced. “Ow. Ow. Not so tight. It’s not a contest.”

He nodded approvingly as 100’s grip loosened. “That’s more like it. Now, this is Loren. She’s, uh, a friend of mine.”

“Lor-en,” said 100, breaking the name down into its component syllables.

“Good to meet you,” Loren said, taking his hand and shaking it. It wasn’t a gesture she was very familiar with, but it was one she’d seen Cal do—or at least attempt—a few times before.

“Holy shoite!” cried Artur from Cal’s shoulder. He pointed to a growing bulge in the front of 100’s robe. “He’s cracked a stiffy.”

Cal bustled in front of his other self, separating him and Loren. “OK, so we don’t need to see that…” he said. “You’ve met Mech.”

“Robots in disguise,” said Carver 100, gazing up at the cyborg in wonder.

Mech ground his teeth together but didn’t respond. He had responded the first three times the new Cal had said it, but had lost the will to keep arguing about it pretty soon after that.

“And this is Artur. He’s a transvestite Space Leprechaun,” Cal said, pointing to the little man on his shoulder.

“Sure, this fella looks awfully like ye,” said Artur. “Has anyone else noticed that, or is it just me?”

“Not just you,” said Mech. He pointed further into the tent, where nine other Cals lounged on beanbags and camping chairs, shooting the shizz. They all had slight differences—one was prematurely balding, another was a little overweight, a third had a lens where one eye should be—but broadly speaking they were all pretty good matches for the Cal whose shoulder Artur was currently sitting on.

“Feck me. There’s more of him,” Artur said.

“I know. Awesome, right?” Cal grinned.

“Not necessarily the word I’d have chosen,” Artur replied. “But if these fellas saved us, then they’re alright in my book.”

He whistled quietly when his gaze fell on a blond-haired young woman standing and talking to an imposingly large man with a beard and a staff. “And hello, who is she?”

“She’s none of your fonking business, that’s who,” Cal told him.

“She’s his daughter,” Mech explained. “From a different reality.”

“Right. Right. Gotcha,” said Artur. He mulled this over for a moment. “So… what? That would make her off-limits to literally every other man here? Am I readin’ that correctly?”

“That’s correct,” said Cal. “But also, every other man here will literally stamp you into a paste if you make even one suggestive comment to her. And they’ll all be behind me in the queue.”

“I’d be careful how ye speak to me,” Artur warned. “I could bite yer ear off from where I’m—”

He screamed as Splurt swatted him off Cal’s shoulder, then crunched onto the sand. Fortunately, the shade from the tent meant the ground was much cooler in here than outside.

“Ye dirty bastard,” Artur shouted, waving a fist in Splurt’s direction. Splurt grew a tongue, stuck it out, then absorbed it back into his gooey green body again.

“Causing trouble again, Artur? Can’t turn my back for five minutes.”

Artur tried not to look pleased, but while his beard provided some cover, the rising of his eyebrows gave him away.

“Deadman, ye ballsack-headed old bastard!” he exclaimed, turning in the direction of the voice. “And ye’ve kept Peaches in one piece, too, I see. Sure, I didn’t think ye had it in ye.”

“I’m full of surprises,” said Dan.

“Ye’re full o’ shoite, more like,” Artur snorted. “Let me guess, these fellas rescued the both of ye like they did us?”

“They might have done,” Deadman conceded. His ravaged features became a fraction warmer. “Good to see you.”

“Ah, quit with the soppy stuff, ye big girly bastard, ye.”

Loren nodded to Dan and Ollie. “You both OK?”

“He’s dead,” said Ollie. “But I’m fine.”

“Huh? Oh. Right. Yeah,” said Loren, Dan’s aroma serving as a timely reminder of his alive/dead status. The fact that he was being lightly baked inside the tent wasn’t helping any, and several of the Cals had already stepped outside for some fresh air.

Loren looked around and spotted the two other strike teams that had set off to take down the stations. Nana Joan and Ronda sat sipping tea together, while Higgsy, Alan, and Narp all slouched in awkward silence, none of them speaking.

“What happened to Kornack?” Loren asked.

Cal spun to face her. “Wait. What? Kornack? As in… Kornack? As in the guy who tried to make you cut off my arm then feed it to me? That Kornack?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” Loren said. “He was flying their ship.”

Cal’s head tick-tocked from Loren to the Deadman gang and back again several times. Ollie waved to him each time.

“Kornack was flying their ship?” he parroted. “What? How? Why?”

“I just need ‘when’ and ‘where’ and I got a full house,” said Artur, miming crossing something off an imaginary bingo card.

“And what ship?” Cal asked. “And why Kornack?” He frowned so deeply it looked like his eyebrows might touch his nose. “I mean… Kornack?”

“Nana Joan knows him,” Mech said.

“We know him! He tried to make me eat myself!”

“Not in this timeline,” said Loren. “He didn’t know us. We’d never met. His butler guy was still alive.”

Cal’s frown somehow summoned the energy to plunge deeper. “You mean Diggadstone? Stdagstone? Tiggadston?” He shook his head. “You mean the guy whose head I split open with an ax?”

“That’s the guy,” Mech confirmed. “Except he’s alive and well, and his skull’s in one piece.”

“Oh,” said Cal. Then, “Oh! So… it’s fine? Kornack doesn’t think I’m a cannibal, doesn’t want me to eat myself for his amusement, and won’t hold a grudge about us killing his butler or blowing him to pieces. That’s great! He might actually be a useful guy to have on our side.”

He clapped his hands together and turned to Deadman. “Where is he?”

Dan shrugged. “He ejected himself through the airlock.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I guess the good news is that Igneons can technically survive in space,” said Dan.

“Can they?”

“Yeah. But then I’m told the Universe was destroyed, so I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

“Fonk,” said Cal. For a moment, he almost looked saddened by the news, but then he shrugged. “Ah well, no great loss. The important thing is, we’re OK.”

“Is that the important thing?” asked Ollie. She blushed a little as all eyes turned to look at her. “I mean, if everything else in the Universe is gone, is us being OK the most important thing?”

“I mean… No. Fair point. I’ll take that,” Cal said. “I just meant, you know, relatively speaking compared to Kornack, it’s good that we’re all safe. Obviously, in terms of the whole Universe, you could argue that our survival is less important.”

His eyebrows raised. “Or you could argue it’s even more important. Everything in the Universe is gone except us, a plucky band of survivors. A ragtag group of heroes cast adrift on an ocean of… of…” His momentum faltered. “Something cool sounding. I don’t know. I didn’t really think that through.”

“Water?” Ollie suggested.

“I wouldn’t mind some, now that ye mention it,” said Artur, smacking his lips together. “Sure, my mouth’s as dry as an old woman’s—”

“Water! Yes,” said Cal, cutting him off. “Cast adrift on an ocean of water. It makes no sense, but let’s go with that. Good job.”

Loren took another look around the place. She recognized a couple of the other Cals. Carver Eighty-Three, the dwarf with the metal head and indecipherable accent was over in one corner, idly tossing his ax from hand to hand.

Carver Twenty-Seven—‘Old Man Carver’ as Cal had dubbed him—stood by a group of mixed-species Cals with a rainbow of skin colors. They were all locked in what looked like quite a heated discussion about something important, but was, in fact, a debate over which of the two dads in the late 80s sitcom, My Two Dads, was the best.

The consensus had generally been in favor of the younger, hipper Joey, played by various incarnations of the actor, Greg Evigan. Now, though, Old Man Carver was bringing the others around to the idea that Paul Reiser’s Michael was the vital Yin to Evigan’s Yang. Indeed that, he argued, was the entire fonking point of the show, and if they didn’t understand that, they were all idiots.

None of which Loren heard. And if she had, she almost certainly wouldn’t have cared.

“So… what now?” she asked.

A hush fell on the group. It was a question they had all been contemplating. Now that it had been voiced, it demanded some sort of answer, although nobody had the faintest idea of what that answer was.

“I guess we regroup,” Cal said. “Figure out a plan.”

“A plan?” said Deadman, pushing his hat back to reveal the full horror of his face. “A plan for what? The Universe is gone. It’s over.”

“Hey, it’s not over until it’s over,” Cal insisted.

“Has the Universe been destroyed?” Deadman asked.

Cal shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I mean… yes, but—”

“Then it’s over, kid,” Deadman told him. “It’s over.”

“No, but…”

Mech put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “I hate to say it, man, but he’s right.”

“He knew we were coming,” said Loren. “He had too long to prepare. There was nothing we could’ve done.”

“So, we find a way to fix it,” Cal said, throwing his arms up in frustration.

Carver 100 sidled up to him. “Everyone dead. Everyone gone. Gone. Gone,” he whispered, each repeated word becoming quieter.

“What’s wi’ the creepy whispering bastard?” Artur wondered aloud.

“No! There has to be something we can do,” Cal protested. He broke away from the group. “Ronda! Nana Joan! Ladies. You’re old and wise, right?”

Both women peered over the rims of their cups at him as they sipped their tea.

“If anyone can think of a way to put everything straight, it’s you guys.” He made a beckoning motion with both hands. “So, hit me with it. What should we do?”

Ronda lowered her cup and swirled it around as if reading the tea leaves. Whatever she saw in there didn’t leave much of an impression, and she set the cup down in the sand beside her chair.

“Do you want my opinion as a Nun, or as a friend?”

This caught Cal off guard. “Both. Either. Uh, whichever one will tell me how to get the Universe back.”

Ronda nodded slowly. “As a Nun, I can offer you no advice. I see no future here. My precognition is gone. I am as blind to what is to come as you are.”

She smiled at him, but there was a sadness to it. “As your friend, I say the time has come for you to let go. To move on.”

“Move on?” Cal snapped. “The Universe has been destroyed. Millions of people have been killed!”

Mech tutted. “Seriously? Millions?”

“Well, I don’t know. Billions. Gajillions. That’s not the point. The point is—”

“That’s not what you need to let go of,” Ronda told him. She leaned forward and beckoned him closer, then took one of his hands in both of hers. “We flew over an oasis on the way in. It looked nice. Peaceful. There was a little lake. Some flowers, even.”

Cal frowned. “So? What are you talking about? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s time, Cal,” Ronda said. “It’s time to let her go.”

Nineteen

Ronda had been right about the oasis. As final resting places went, you couldn’t really ask for better.

Cal, Loren, Mech and former WWF World Heavyweight Champion, Hulk Hogan, each held one corner of the cryo-slab, and gently placed it on three planks that ran horizontally across a hole in the ground. It wasn’t a royal burial chamber on the moon of Kifo, but Cal thought Miz would like it.

Or hate it. Probably hate it, in fact. But then, that had always been part of her charm.

With the slab in place, they stepped back. A burial shroud had been fashioned from a large square of cloth Cal had found. When he’d come across it, it had been the back wall of Carver 2’s tent, but he hadn’t noticed yet, so there was no real harm done.

She’d looked perfect when they’d wrapped her in it, and Cal had half-expected her eyes to flick open as he pulled the cloth up over her face and tucked it behind her head.

But no. Ronda was right. Miz was gone. It was time to let go.

He looked around at the gathered faces. Most of the Cals had come along. He recognized a lot of them from last time, although there were a few he didn’t remember. It had been a stressful time, though, and he wasn’t great with faces—even his own—so chances were he’d just forgotten them.

Loren and Mech appeared at either side of him, their hands clasped in front of themselves, their heads low. Hulk Hogan remained over by the slab, ready to lower Miz to her final resting place when the time came.

Carver Prime—Lily—stood across from Cal. She smiled sadly at him, and he tried to pull one of his own together in response. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

He’d promised Mizette’s mother he’d look after her, and now here she was, lying on a slab in a different universe, surrounded by virtual strangers.

Old Man Carver had offered to perform the service. It turned out that he’d buried a lot of friends in his time when his dimension’s Earth had descended into chaos and anarchy. And while not all of them had been dead at the time, enough of them had been that he felt he had a pretty good handle on it all.

Dwarf Cal had actually offered his services first, but as nobody could understand more than a few words of what he said, and because it sounded like he planned to set the body alight then hack it to pieces in some sort of terrifying grand finale to the whole event, it was decided that Carver 27 was the better man for the job.

The old man approached the head of the slab, bowed deeply, then addressed the gathered crowd. “Council. Guests. Friends. This has been a grave day.” He winced, just a little. “No pun intended. Sorry.”

Cal dismissed it with a wave, and Old Man Carver continued.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life, and mourn the passing of…” He rummaged through a few sheets of paper covered in scratchy handwriting. “Uh…”

“Mizette,” said Cal.

“Yes! Right. I see it here now,” said Old Man Caver. He brought the sheet closer and squinted at his own writing. “Mizette Ofthegreyx.”

“No. Of the Greyx,” Cal corrected. “Not Ofthegreyx. She’s Mizette of the Greyx.”

Old Man Carver glanced down at his notes, then back up again. “How did I say it?”

“You said ‘Ofthegreyx,’” said Loren. “Like, all one word.”

“Ofthegreyx,” Old Man Carver said.

“Exactly,” said Cal. “It’s not that.”

Old Man Carver was starting to look a little flustered by this point. He consulted his notes again. “So, she’s not Mizette Ofthegreyx?”

“No. She’s Mizette of the Greyx,” Cal said.

He held Old Man Carver’s blank gaze. “Just space it out a little more, is what I’m saying.”

“Mizette,” began the old man. He counted to three in his head, although his lips moved silently as he did it. “Ofthegreyx.”

“No, not like that. Space out the last part! It’s not her surname,” Cal said. “She’s not Miss Ofthegreyx. She’s Mizette of the Greyx. As in that’s the species she’s a part of.”

“What is?”

“The Greyx!”

“Right! Right. Got you,” said Old Man Carver. “Sorry, I should’ve checked all this in advance. Sorry, got it now.”

He took a deep breath and smiled warmly at the gathered congregation. “We are gathered here to celebrate the life and to mourn the passing of Mizette… of… the…”

“Jesus,” said Cal, marching to the front. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“What? Oh! Right. But… I wrote a whole speech,” the old man protested. He fanned them out for Cal to see. “Look.”

“Twenty-Seven,” said Carver Prime. She nodded to a space in the crowd just a little further down from where she stood. Old Man Carver took a moment to get her meaning. He nodded a little reluctantly, slipped his notes into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, then shuffled over to the spot Carver Prime had directed him to.

Lily nodded to Cal, and he almost felt himself break then. The daughter he had lost, all grown up. The friend he had lost, about to be lowered into the ground. Fonk. This was going to be rough.

He drew in a breath. Loren and Mech both gave him smiles and nods of encouragement. Hulk Hogan ripped his T-Shirt off and gurned at an imaginary camera.

Cal closed his eyes.

Cal swallowed.

And then, Cal began to speak.

“So, what can I tell you about Miz? She was hairy. She was… largely indifferent about most things. But not everything—some things, she really hated. Loren’s flying. Her ex-boyfriend. Vegetarianism.”

Cal felt his throat tighten and waited a moment for the feeling to pass. “But she loved things, too. She loved criticizing Loren’s flying. And her landings. And, actually, pretty much just Loren in general.”

Loren smiled at that. She couldn’t argue.

“She loved fighting. She loved sarcasm. She loved rolling her eyes and sighing. She loved looking at her nails and ignoring anything anyone said. Especially if that person was Loren.”

Again, Loren couldn’t argue.

“She loved eating things, even if those things really didn’t want to be eaten. Especially then.” He coughed to disguise the crack he could feel developing in his voice. “And she loved us. Mech, Splurt, me. Even Loren, although she’d never admit it. She loved us.”

He bit his lips as is eyes misted over. “But mostly, she loved the fighting,” he said, drawing a chuckle from the crowd. Some of the other Cal’s had seen Miz in action up close. Many of them even owed their lives to her teeth, claws, and temper.

“We got in a lot of fights together against a lot of weird shizz, but whatever happened, I knew she always had my back. No matter the opponent, no matter what craziness we were up against, Mizette planted her feet, straightened her back, and stood her fonking ground.”

He sniffed, composing himself again. “She wasn’t brave. She was fearless. And she never ran away from a fight in her whole damn life.”

* * *

Mizette stumbled blindly through the jungle, one hand clutching the wound on her side in an attempt to stop her insides sliding out. Behind her, she heard trees bending and snapping, their roots tearing free as the Unshuk raced after her, hunting her down.

It was too strong. Too big. Too fast. She had thought she could fight it, but there was no hurting this thing. She’d thrown everything she had at it, and it had barely allowed her to escape with her life.

And it had allowed her. The only reason she’d been able to get away from it was because it had let her. It had told her how it was going to drag her death out, teasing her along until it got bored of the hunt.

Her body was already dead, of course, but the battle with the Unshuk would decide the fate of her soul. Victory meant the long sleep by the fire. Failure meant an eternity of suffering.

There was no way she could win, she knew, so the only option was to delay the inevitable, and make that eternity of suffering even just a few minutes shorter.

“Mizeeeeeette.”

The trees around her whispered her name. She raced on, ignoring the pain that screamed from the ankle of her left leg. Broken, she thought. She didn’t understand why she had physical form here, or how she could be hurt, but she could be. She had been. Badly.

And so, Mizette of the Grex ran. She ran, and she didn’t look back.

* * *

Cal had found his rhythm and was in full flow now. “…until she discovered that Mech has no penis, which promptly brought that relationship crashing to a halt.”

Mech took in all the faces that had turned his way. As well as most of the Cals, he saw Higgsy, Alan, Ollie, and Deadman all watching him, but it was Artur in particular who looked at him with an expression of total glee from inside Deadman’s coat pocket.

“Thanks for that, man,” Mech muttered. “I appreciate you bringing that shizz up.”

“Of course, she was mostly interested in me, but nothing ever happened,” Cal continued. “I mean… was I tempted? Sure. If you got past the whole ‘surly attitude’ and the ‘giant dog-woman’ thing, and the fact that she was six, Miz was actually pretty hot.”

He caught Loren’s expression. “You know, if you’re into that sort of thing. Which I’m not. I’m just saying, if I was, then I’d totally have…”

Cal cleared his throat, muttered something to himself, then got back on track.

“Anyway. The point is… She’s gone. I didn’t want to believe that at first. I thought there had to be a way, you know? There had to be a way to get her back. But I was wrong. She’s gone. Like all Greyx, she’s gone to face the Unshuk. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Ugh,” said Ollie. “I hate that guy.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah.”

He blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Who the feck’s the Unshuk?” asked Artur.

Loren frowned. “It’s something the Greyx believe. Mizette told us about it after her dad died a few weeks back.”

“Her dad died?” asked Artur.

Mech nodded. “He was murdered by her fiancé.”

“Holy shoite. No offense, like, but she sounds like a fecking jinx.”

Cal waved his hands for silence. “Wait, wait, everyone shut up,” he said. He caught Ollie’s eye. “What do you mean, you ‘hate that guy’?”

“I mean I don’t like him.”

“Who?”

“The Unshuk.”

Cal’s lips moved silently like he was testing out a number of alternative responses.

“What do you mean, the Unshuk?” he said, settling on what was presumably one of the least imaginative of the lot.

Ollie shot Dan a sideways glance, trying to figure out if these were trick questions, or perhaps some kind of test. “I mean I don’t like the Unshuk,” she said. “I don’t think anyone really does, to be honest. He’s horrible.”

Cal searched her face for some sign that she was on the wind-up, but all he found there was absolute sincerity. “What are you saying? You’ve met the Unshuk?” he asked her.

Ollie nodded. “He used to come around. He and Kalaechai used to hang out sometimes.”

“Did they?” said Cal, raising his eyebrows. “Did they really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who the fonk is Kalaechai?” Cal demanded, stepping closer.

Ollie drew back at the sudden harshness of his tone. Deadman sidled in front of her just enough to make his presence felt.

“Easy, Muntch,” he said. “The kid’ll answer your questions. But back off.”

Cal almost bit back at the detective, but then raised his hands. “Fine. Sorry. I’m just… What is she talking about? How can she have met the Unshuk? It isn’t real. I mean… is it? No. It can’t be. Can it? It’s just a crazy religious death thing. Right?”

Dan shrugged. “You’d be surprised how real some crazy religious death things can be,” he said. “Trust me.”

Cal sat down. There was nothing behind him to sit on, but his legs were too stunned by this recent round of revelations to continue holding him up. Fortunately, Splurt stopped being Hulk Hogan in time to become a comfortable old armchair. Although, he did keep the mustache.

“So, wait a motherfonking moment,” said Mech. “The Unshuk is real?”

“Yes,” said Ollie.

“As in… real real?” asked Loren. “As in it exists?”

Ollie frowned. “Is there another kind of real?” she asked. “Yes. It exists.”

“Fonk me,” said Mech. “That’s all kinds of crazy.”

Old Man Carver joined them. “Would you like me to take over again?” he wondered. “I’ve still got the speech.”

“Huh? No, it’s fine,” said Cal, jumping up. He addressed Ollie, being careful to keep the tornado of emotions currently tearing through him in check. “So, the Unshuk?”

Ollie glanced anxiously at Dan before responding. “The Unshuk.”

“It used to come around and hang out with…”

“Kalaechai.”

“He was sort of her father,” Artur explained. “Only he was a big demon-fella who stole her as a baby.”

“And tortured her,” Dan added. “So, go easy.”

Cal rubbed his forehead. This was making his brain hurt. “So… the Unshuk, the Greyx death monster, or whatever, used to visit your father—”

“Sort of father,” Artur corrected.

“Sort of father. And just… hang out?”

Ollie nodded. “Yes.”

“But, I mean… what did they do? What did they talk about?”

“They played cards a lot,” Ollie recalled. “Talked shop. You know, torture, damnation, where to get the best brimstone. That sort of thing.”

“Right,” said Cal. “OK. Right. That’s… totally useless. Do you know anything else about him?”

Ollie thought for a moment, then clicked her fingers. “Yes!”

“Alright! What?”

“He’s got terrible breath. Like…” She mimed gagging. “Really bad.”

“OK!” Cal cheered. He shuffled excitedly from foot to foot, but only for a moment. “How does that help us?”

“Oh. No, it doesn’t,” said Ollie.

“You must know something useful,” Cal said. “I mean, do you know where it lives? Do you know how to find it?”

Ollie answered slowly, after a little thought. “No. No, I don’t. Sorry.”

Cal groaned. Fonk. There’d been hope there, for a moment. He’d stupidly allowed himself to grab onto it, and now…

Dan Deadman pushed back his hat. He scratched his dry scalp, flaking pieces away.

“But if we put our heads together,” he said, looking from Ollie to the others, then across to Cal. “I reckon we can probably find out.”

* * *

For the first time since arriving in this place, Miz felt free. Truly free.

Weightless, even.

The feeling of liberation passed when she smashed against a rough, rocky cliff face and fell the nine or ten feet to the ground. Her shoulder crunched. Her ribs cracked. Her mouth was suddenly filled with sand and blood, and she scrabbled to stop her guts spilling out through the hole in her side.

She felt the hand around her ankle again, the rough claws piercing her skin even through her fur. And then she was flying again, soaring aloft. Unbound. Untethered. Un—

SHUNK. Mizette hit a tree with enough force to shear through several of its thickest branches. Her momentum carried her fifteen feet into the jungle before a tangle of vines and thorny foliage dragged her to the ground.

Frantically, she hacked at her bonds with her claws, but three of them had been torn out, and the going was slow. She had lost teeth, too. The searing pain she felt when she clenched her jaws shut refreshed her memory of that.

The ground shook beneath her as the Unshuk approached. The side of her face was badly swollen, but she could see its bulk from the corner of her eye, creeping through the shadows of the trees.

“Oh, Mizette,” it whispered, abusing her father’s voice. “Do you see now? Do you realize how pointless all this is? I was trying to help you, Daughter. I was trying to save you from this. But you didn’t listen.”

The voice became her mother’s. “She never listens.”

“Never,” agreed her father.

Tree trunks groaned as the Unshuk shoved them aside. Mizette’s chest tightened, her breath coming in short, frantic gulps as she tore at the remaining vines and branches.

“I’m bored now,” the Unshuk said, resorting to its own scratchy whisper. “It is time, Mizette of the Greyx. You have faced the Unshuk.”

It appeared above her, an enormous mass of teeth and claws and muscle and hate. “And now, you shall fall to the Unshuk. Just like your father. Just like every other member of your worthless little species before you.”

The Unshuk flexed all four of its arms, eliciting little groans and creaks from each of them. Its boulder-like head tilted left and right, cricking its neck.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a lot of fun,” it said. “So, I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to let you say some last words. You know, so you can feel that this was worthwhile, or had a point.”

It smiled, showing off too many teeth. “Go ahead. Delude yourself.”

Mizette tried to speak, but the words came out as a faint whimper. The Unshuk snorted.

“Pathetic,” it said. Its ears swiveled down as it ducked, bringing those teeth closer. “Try again,” it said, and its stinking hot breath brought tears to Mizette’s eyes.

“I said,” Mizette replied, her voice suddenly stronger. A handful of mud hit the Unshuk in the face, blinding it. “Like, back off, you weirdo!”

Ignoring the pain, she swung both arms up, her remaining claws tearing through the thick fur of the Unshuk’s chest and gouging deep grooves in the flesh below. It made a sound that was halfway between a yelp and a roar, then stumbled back, wiping the mud from its eyes.

Mizette saw her chance. Her ankle, ribs and pretty much every other bone in her body screamed at her as she dropped onto her haunches, then pounced. She bared her remaining teeth and extended the claws she had left to their full, terrifying length.

If she hit him fast and hit him hard, maybe she could end this. Maybe her place by the Great Fire would still be waiting for her. Maybe she could—

The Unshuk’s hand wrapped around her throat, jerking her to a stop in the air. Miz scratched and clawed at the monster’s wrist, but either it didn’t notice, or it didn’t care. Its yellow eyes seemed to illuminate in the darkness as it pulled the squirming Greyx girl closer.

“I suppose I deserved that,” it told her. “You’re the second Greyx who actually managed to hurt me recently. I should probably work on that.”

His grip tightened. Mizette’s head went light and the world dimmed around her.

“Farewell, Mizette of the Greyx. An eternity of suffering awaits you in—”

Somewhere behind the Unshuk, someone cleared their throat.

Still holding Miz, the monster turned to find a human male in a leather jacket smiling up at it.

“Hey there!” said Cal. “Hoping you can help. I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

Mizette’s ears twitched at the sound of Cal’s voice. Her swollen eyes swam through the dark until she found him.

“Oh, wait. I think I see her,” Cal said. “I guess that makes you the Nunchuck?”

“Unshuk,” it growled.

Cal frowned. “What did I say?”

“Who are you?” the Unshuk demanded.

Cal winced. “Shizz. Sorry, forgot the introductions. I’m Cal. Cal Carver. I’d shake your hand but, one, you’re terrifying, and two…” He held up both hands to reveal a pair of padded mittens made from part of Carver Two’s tent.

The Unshuk stepped forward, shaking the jungle around them. Cal stood his ground.

“See, long story short, the stepdaughter of an old friend of yours helped some dead guy and a lot of alternate universe versions of me figure out where you live. It’s all to do with demon dimensions and something called the Malwhere, apparently. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening to that part,” Cal explained.

“The point I did start listening to was when they explained how we couldn’t hurt you in this dimension. Like, we’d pass right through you, or whatever. I know, sucks, right?”

“You defile this place with your—”

“Hold up, big guy. Wasn’t finished,” Cal said. “So, I’m thinking we’re screwed. I mean, if we can’t fight you, what can we do? But then the dead guy, he tells us about these gloves he used to have that let him touch demons. Not, like, touch touch them. Nothing inappropriate. Just grab them, beat the shizz out of them, or whatever. All good clean fun.”

The Unshuk took a step closer. Again, Cal didn’t move.

“So, I said, ‘How does that help? We don’t have the gloves.’ But then the dead guy says, ‘No, but we can make them.’ See, it turns out that some of the tech the other versions of me use to hop around the multiverse is basically made up of the same stuff that makes the gloves work.”

The Unshuk blinked ponderously. “I thought you said this was going to be short?”

“Oh, it is. In reality, this took hours. I’m skipping the boring parts to get to the good stuff. Namely…” Cal held up his hands. “We made the gloves. Just one pair, but I told them that’d be enough.” He wound both arms around, limbering up. “Miz, honey, I’m going to get you out of here in just a sec, OK?”

The Unshuk’s laugh rolled across the jungle, shaking the leaves in the trees. “You? You think you can beat me with some… what? Magic gloves?”

“Magic space gloves,” Cal corrected. He held up his hands. “And also, these things? They were just to get your attention. I’m not wearing the gloves.”

He nodded past the Unshuk into the trees behind him. “He is.”

A metal fist hammered into the monster’s lower back with the force of a cannonball strike. The Unshuk stumbled, releasing his grip on Mizette as it grabbed for the trees to stop itself from falling.

“Come on, motherfonker!” Mech growled. “Let’s get it on.”

Twenty

WHAM! Another battering-ram blow hammered into the Unshuk’s ribcage. It spun, all four arms lashing out, but Mech wasn’t standing where it had been expecting, and it staggered, off-balance, plunging further into the jungle.

“Missed me,” said Mech, appearing suddenly behind it again. He powered three more punches into its lumbar region, then delivered a crunching blow to the side of one of its knees.

Miz coughed and wheezed as she desperately tried to fill her lungs with air she technically didn’t need. Hands grabbed at her, and she swung wildly, trying to bat them away.

“Hey, easy there, tiger,” said Cal. “It’s me. It’s us. We’ve got you.”

Mizette blinked her swollen eyelids, bringing the world into focus. She saw Cal there, leaning over her. Loren, too. They’d come for her. They’d come.

Her voice, when it came, was filled with indignation.

“Like… seriously. What the fonk kept you guys?” she demanded. “Did Loren crash on the way here?”

“Funny,” said Loren, hooking one of Miz’s arms over her shoulders.

“Big fight. End of the Universe,” Cal explained, groaning as he helped heave Miz into a standing position. “But yes, funny you should ask, Loren did also crash the ship.”

“Totally knew it.”

Behind them, a lucky punch from the Unshuk sent Mech hurtling through the air. And, more significantly, through several trees. The shadows grew around Cal, Loren and Miz as one of the trees toppled toward them.

“Aw, shizz,” Cal groaned.

The tree stopped falling just a few feet above them, a giant octopus-like tentacle catching it before it could crash down. The tentacle was just one of many attached to a car-sized green ball that sat nestled in the foliage on the jungle floor. It still, to Cal’s slight consternation, sported Hulk Hogan’s handlebar mustache.

“Great job, buddy,” Cal said.

He looked past Splurt to where Mech had landed. The impact had driven him a few feet into the ground. The Unshuk growled as it approached him, all twenty of its claws extending from the ends of its fingers.

“Shizz. Mech, get up!” Cal cried. “You’re the only one who can fight that thing, big guy! No one else can touch it!”

Splurt’s wide eyes went to the Unshuk, then to the tree he currently held wrapped in his tentacle.

With a flick of a squidgy wrist, he brought the tree down hard, swatting the Unshuk to the ground.

“Oh, but we can use the… Gotcha,” said Cal. “Splurt, help Mech. Loren, Miz… What say we get the fonk out of here?”

Mizette’s bruised snout wrinkled, as her lips drew back into something resembling a smirk. “Like, I thought you were never going to ask.”

* * *

Cal and Loren fell through the circular doorway and into a gravity that was pulling them in an entirely different direction to the one they’d just left. They flailed in the air for a moment, then hit the sand together and rolled on for a couple of feet. When they stopped, Loren was astride Cal, their faces just inches apart.

“Well, this is nice,” Cal said, which caused Loren to leap off him as if she’d been electrocuted.

Deadman, Ollie, Nana Joan and all the others stood around a circle of ancient runes that had been marked out on the sand. In the center of it, lying flat was the doorway they had been ejected through. Beside it, surrounded by more runes and some cobbled-together dimensional gate technology, was Mizette’s wrapped and lifeless body.

The other Mizette was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” Cal asked. He spun to the crowd. “Did she come through? She was right with us. Where did she go?”

“It was just you two,” said Ronda. “No one else.”

“Fonk!” Cal spat. Shaking off his gloves, he marched back toward the portal. “She must still be in there. We have to go back.”

“Cal, wait,” said Loren, grabbing him by the arm. The surface of the portal flickered and foamed, like the surface of a lake with something bubbling just beneath. “Something’s coming.”

Cal motioned for everyone else to stay back. “Nobody move!” he commanded, even though no one had shown any intention of doing so. His voice became a desperate whisper. “Come on, Miz, come on.”

A large figure shot straight up out of the hole, flipped in the air, then hit the ground with a metallic clank.

“No, no, no,” Cal hissed. “Mech! What are you doing here? You were supposed to keep that thing busy until we escaped.”

“You did escape,” Mech pointed out.

“But we don’t have Miz! She’s not here!”

Mech stood and looked around. “What? She ain’t? Then where the fonk is she?”

“I told you, I wasn’t sure this was going to work,” Deadman said.

“Where’s Splurt? Is he still in there?” Cal asked.

Mech jabbed a gloved hand back over his shoulder, just as a mustachioed green blob oozed up onto his shoulder. “No. He’s with me.”

Cal pushed past them, rolling up his sleeves. “Shizz. OK, everyone back in the hole. Let’s try this again. And Loren, hold on tight to her this time.”

“I was holding on tight.”

“Then hold on tighter,” Cal reasoned.

And then, with a furious roar, the enormous head of the Unshuk rose up through the portal, its monstrous teeth gnashing and snapping at the air.

“Ooh, fonk. We’re all going to die,” Cal squeaked, stumbling back as the thing’s stinking breath rolled over him.

He saw hatred in its eyes, then saw chunks of rotten meat between its teeth as the mouth opened wide and the head came lunging toward him.

The sheets on the cryo-slab moved. The shape beneath them exploded upward. Ten claws extended and slashed across the Unshuk’s exposed throat, tearing the flesh wide open. Its blood gushed out like a waterfall, coating the snarling figure beneath it from head to tail.

“By the way,” said Miz, watching the monster choke and wheeze as it fought desperately for air. “You, like, totally talk too much.”

She spat out a wad of blood, then raised her fists and brought them down hard on the Unshuk’s nose. It tried to squeal, but all that emerged was a series of bloody bubbles, followed by a frothy pink foam.

The Unshuk sunk down, the life ebbing out of it as it slid through the portal and back into its own dimension.

Cal placed one foot right at the portal’s edge and leaned over. “And stay out!” he ordered, before quickly turning away and urging anyone within earshot to, “Shut this fonking thing off before it comes back!”

Someone obliged. The circle contracted until it was the size of a dinner plate, then folded itself in half several times until there was nothing left.

It was only when the portal was gone that everyone realized what a racket it had been making. Now that it no longer buzzed and crackled, silence descended as everyone in this tiny universe stared at Mizette in wonder.

“Like, take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Miz told them. She turned to Cal. He was smiling at her, but it was an uncertain smile, like he daren’t believe what he was seeing.

“Miz?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Miz told him.

“It’s her, man,” said Mech, indicating a series of nonsensical readouts on his arm display. “That’s her.”

Cal flew at her, arms thrown wide open. Having spent an indeterminable period of time being attacked when she least expected it, Miz instinctively right-hooked him, knocking his jaw out of alignment and sending him spinning to the ground.

“Owf! Owf! My fwonking thace,” Cal whimpered.

Miz quickly lowered her hands. “Uh, like, sorry. Or whatever,” she said, which was as close to an apology as Cal was likely to get. “You caught me off guard.”

“That was you caught off guard?” said Loren. “Remind me not to fight you when you’re expecting it.”

“Please. I could kill you with my eyes shut,” Mizette retorted.

“Maybe.” Loren conceded. She nodded to the wolf-woman. “Good to have you back, Miz.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t forgiven you for getting me killed in the first place,” Miz said, crossing her arms.

“Didn’t think you would have,” Loren said.

“You so owe me one.”

“I do.”

“Or, like, five. If you total up all the other times I’ve saved you.”

“Not that you’re counting,” said Loren.

“At least I can count,” Miz retorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I can count.”

Miz snorted. “Well, good for you. You must be, like, so proud.”

Loren smirked. “That whole ‘good to have you back’ thing? I might be reconsidering.”

Cal sprang to his feet between them, his jaw clicking back into place. He didn’t dive at Miz this time, but instead held his arms open, beckoning her in.

“Come on, you know you want to.”

“Ugh. Seriously?” Miz scowled.

“Get in here, you!”

Miz sighed. “So lame,” she muttered, plodding reluctantly over to Cal. His arms wrapped around her pulling her into a hug. She made a show of looking immensely displeased about it, yet made no attempt to resist.

For a moment—just a moment—she sagged against him. It was a moment of weakness shared only with him, and unnoticed by the others. It passed quickly, and they both knew they’d never speak of it again.

Lost in the moment, Cal tried to lift Miz off the ground. He’d imagined joyfully spinning her around like people did when they were reunited in old movies. The fact she weighed four times as much as he did quickly put a stop to any such notion, however, and he grimaced as something in his lower back went twang.

“Fonk, OK, that’s not happening,” he realized, releasing his grip. He placed both hands on his lumbar region and stretched. “Jesus. That hurt.”

Mech clanked over. He gave Miz a nod. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Miz replied.

On the surface, the exchange wasn’t anything to write home about, but then neither of them were renowned for their big speeches, and the sentiment was all there in the subtext.

Splurt was less reserved. Bouncing off Mech’s shoulder, he flipped in the air, then splatted across Miz’s head before oozing down either side of it like the inside of an egg. When he reached her shoulders, he drooped over her like a scarf, albeit one with the facial hair of wrestler-turned-actor, Hulk Hogan.

“So, you’re probably wondering how we worked it all out!” said Cal. He beckoned for Ollie and Dan Deadman to come and join them. “How we found you, how we rescued you, all that stuff. I’m sure you have a lot of questions!”

Miz sniffed. “No. I, like, don’t really care.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He gestured for Ollie and Dan to go away again.

“I mean, it’d have been nice if you’d been quicker. That place totally sucked.”

Miz looked around at the barren landscape, populated predominantly with assorted Cal Carvers. “Speaking of places that totally suck, where are we? And what’s with all the Carvers? And what’s that smell?”

“The smell is Dan Deadman, who you’ve met,” said Cal. “He’s one of the people who helped us… But you don’t care, so we won’t bother getting into that. The Carver Council is here because they rescued us and brought us here to this little bubble universe.”

“Couldn’t they have picked somewhere less lame?” Miz wondered.

Carver Prime and her second in command, Carver Two, joined the conversation. Lily’s smile was friendly enough, but suggested her patience levels were running a little low.

“We didn’t have a lot of choices,” she explained. “We were mounting a multi-target retrieval mission across dimensions during a full reality breakdown. We chose this place to minimize the risk to the council and to whichever other universes we would’ve otherwise brought them to.”

Miz scowled along her snout at Carver Prime. “Huh? What’s a ‘full reality breakdown’ when it’s at home?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s another thing I should’ve mentioned,” said Cal. “The Universe has been destroyed.”

Miz shifted her gaze from Lily to Cal. “What?”

“You know the Universe? Where we lived? It’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just, you know, gone in general,” said Cal. “It was, I don’t know, exactly. Blown up? Torn down? One of those.”

“Krone did it,” said Loren.

Miz scowled. “Ugh. You mean you didn’t stop him after he stabbed me?”

“Shizz. Wait, you missed a lot, didn’t you?” Cal realized. “OK, quick recap…”

He turned and gestured to the assembled Carvers, Nana Joan, Ronda and the others, some of whom had already started to drift away now that the show was over.

“You guys can go. You’ve all heard this,” he said. “And she might get angry, which could be problematic for everyone. It’s fine. You go.”

He waited until most of the others had started to go. Only Carvers Prime and Two, Dan, Ollie, and the Space Team crew remained. There was snoring from inside Deadman’s coat pocket, which suggested Artur had little interest in anything that was currently going on.

Cal turned back to Miz. “OK, so, after you were stabbed…”

“Because of Loren being an idiot,” added Miz.

“Right. Because of Loren being an idiot, I came up with a pretty ingenious way of stopping Krone and his army.”

“Did you kill him?” Miz asked. “Tell me you killed him. I’d totally have killed him.”

“Better!” said Cal. “We blew up the time bomb thingy and banished them all into the time stream forever!”

Miz frowned. “Uh, OK. But then—”

“Yeah, they got out. Sucks, I know. We don’t know when, exactly, but they escaped, took over the galaxy, stopped Zertex ever happening, wiped out lots of planets, and generally behaved like total shizznods.”

“But then Krone found out he was dying,” said Loren. “And he decided that if he couldn’t live, then no one else should either. He killed his generals…”

“Set up machines to process Dark Matter…” Mech continued.

“Which brings us back to him destroying the Universe,” Cal concluded. He looked to the others for confirmation. “I think that’s all of it, right?”

“Pretty much,” agreed Mech.

“Oh! And we rounded up some of the people we’d met over the past few weeks, hoping they’d help us stop Krone for good.” He shot Deadman quite a stern look. “So much for that plan.”

Miz’s frown deepened. “OK, but…”

“And there’s another me. From my Universe. But, I don’t know, a different timeline, or something. We think because we were there when the bomb exploded, we kind of split off from the new timeline, which is why we remember everything that happened. Or something like that.” He shrugged. “Mech did a graph you might find useful. Although it doesn’t make sense, so you probably won’t.”

“It makes total sense!” Mech argued. “You just didn’t understand it.”

“I didn’t understand it because it didn’t make sense. There were too many lines,” Cal said.

“What the fonk is that supposed to mean? ‘Too many lines’? There was exactly the right number of fonking lines.”

“You could afford to lose a few of the lines, is all I’m saying.”

“Fonk you man. Fonk you. I’m keeping the motherfonking lines,” Mech barked.

“Fine. But you’re making a mistake.”

“Know what? I’m gonna add more lines. It’s gonna be nothing but fonking lines when I’m done with it. See how you like it then.”

“I won’t,” Cal reasoned. “I don’t like the number of lines it currently has. Why would I like it with more?”

Ollie leaned closer to Dan. “What are they talking about?”

“I don’t know. I’m making a point of ignoring it,” Dan told her. “Feel free to do the same.”

“Guys!” said Loren, getting between her bickering crewmates. “Can we please move on?”

“Yeah, Mech, can we please move on?” Cal asked.

“What? I ain’t the one who should be… Know what? Forget it. I’m bigger than this shizz,” Mech said. His voice became a low mutter. “Too many fonking lines.”

“The point is,” said Carver Prime, cutting in before it could flare up again. “We can offer you all safe passage to a different dimension. There are universes out there you could slide right into without throwing anything out of whack. Sure, there’d be differences, but you’d get used to them, and it’s a whole lot better than the alternative.”

“The same goes for your companions,” said Carver Two, indicating Dan and Ollie, then motioning with his staff in the direction Nana Joan and the others had headed. “We can grant them all asylum in any one of a number of realities. Today has been a setback, but it isn’t the end.”

“A setback?” said Cal. “It’s been a little more than ‘a setback’ don’t you think? A setback is not being able to find your toothbrush before a date, or someone—Loren, say—crashing your ship into a landing bay door when you’re trying to make a dramatic entrance. Those are setbacks. The total destruction of the Universe? That’s a few notches higher up.”

Carver Two tutted. “However you care to describe it, the point stands. This doesn’t have to be the end. You can all go on to live full and productive lives elsewhere. The council will facilitate that.”

Cal looked to the others, reading their opinions from the expressions on their faces. None of them were jumping for joy about the whole idea, but what other choice did they have?

“I mean… I guess we’re out of other options,” Cal said.

“So, what?” Miz spat. “You’re just going to let Krone win? Even after he killed me?”

“He’s already won,” Mech pointed out. “The Universe is gone. There ain’t nothing we can do.”

Miz scowled. “Couldn’t you, like, go back in time and stop him?”

Cal snorted. “Ha! No. Back in time? No. I mean, obviously it’d be nice if we could, but… no.”

“Why not?” Miz asked.

Cal opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. “Mech, tell her why not.”

“Because we can’t travel through time,” Mech said.

“Yes! Exactly the point I was going to make,” said Cal. “We can’t travel through time. Otherwise, solid plan, Miz. Well done. Nice to see you making the effort.” He punched her affectionately on the shoulder. “Maybe being dead was good for you.”

“Wait,” said Loren. “Can’t we?”

“Can’t we what?” asked Cal.

“Travel through time.”

“Not according to Mech.”

“It ain’t according to me,” said Mech. “It’s just a fact. We can’t travel in time. It’s impossible.”

“But Krone did,” said Deadman. His gravelly voice got the attention of everyone else in the circle. “I mean, unless you’ve really been screwing with us through all of this, then it’s happened before. Krone and his army went back in time. That at least proves it’s possible.”

“Possible, maybe,” Mech said. “But that was different. They got sucked into a hole in time.”

“And they were lost in there for years, I think,” Loren said. “He said something about it in his boring monologue.”

“You got one of those, too, huh?” said Dan. “The man loved the sound of his own voice.”

“Well, I don’t love the sound o’ yours. D’ye mind keepin’ the fecking noise down out there?” barked a voice from Dan’s coat pocket. Artur’s head emerged, one eye half-shut, both sides of his beard pointing in opposite directions. “Some of us are trying to get some beauty sleep in…”

When he saw Mizette, both eyes opened wide like flowers budding into bloom. His jaw dropped, and for a few seconds the only sound that came out of him was a low, monotonous, “Duhhhhhhh,” like his brain had suffered a catastrophic systems failure.

“Holy Father, it’s an angel,” he finally managed to whisper. Giving himself a shake, he spat on both hands, then hurriedly smoothed down his scraggly hair. It immediately sprang back up again. “Well now. Hello, there. I’m Artur, so I am. Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Miz’s deep brown eyes fixed on the little man in Dan’s pocket for a while, then slid across to Cal. “Everyone else can see that guy, right?”

“We can,” Cal confirmed. “I mean, we might not always want to, but we can.”

Relief eased the tension that had taughtened Mizette’s muscles. The Unshuk’s realm had been full of weird shizz like this, and the last thing she needed was to find out she was still there, and that this whole thing was some final cruel hoax.

Still, better safe than sorry.

Reaching out, she tapped Artur on the top of the head. It wasn’t a particularly scientific way of checking whether or not he was real, but then science had never really been her strong point.

Artur, for his part, shuddered in pleasure at Mizette’s fleeting touch. “I’m never washing me hair again,” he whispered.

“Pretty sure you’ve never washed it before now, either,” Dan pointed out.

Artur squinted up at him. “What are ye saying? That I’m a smelly bastard? Is that what ye’re getting at? Do ye really want to take it there, bearing in mind yer own extensive personal hygiene issues?”

He eyeballed Dan for a while—specifically, the inside of his right nostril—then turned his attention back to Mizette. “I promise ye, I’m real, me darlin’. I’m all real,” he assured her. “Ye’ve got nothing to worry about on that front.”

Miz didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she resorted to an old favorite. “Whatever.”

“I would indeed do whatever for such a fine figure of a woman as yerself,” Artur told her. “Whatever ye asked of me. Whatever yer heart desired. Sure, I may not look like much, but I’m small and nimble and I know me way around the inner workings of a lady’s—”

Dan pushed Artur’s head down, forcing the little man back into his pocket. “Aaaand that’s enough of that for the moment,” he said, buttoning the pocket shut and muffling the rest of Artur’s sentence. He raised his rotten eyebrows. “What were we talking about again?”

“Time travel,” said Loren.

“And how it ain’t possible,” Mech added.

Carver Prime sucked air in through her teeth. “It might be,” she said.

“It might?” asked Cal.

“No. I mean, not really,” Lily backtracked. She looked up at Carver Two towering above her. “I’m thinking about the Void.”

“Interesting,” said Two.

“The Void?” said Cal. “As in the place where the big monster cloud lives?”

“The space between realities,” Lily said. “Technically, it exists outside of time and space. When you’re in there, time doesn’t happen.”

“What the fonk does that mean?” Mech demanded.

“It means that from the perspective of someone outside the Void, someone inside it exists at every moment in time,” Two explained.

Cal stared blankly at them both. He had spent a good half second or so trying to get his head around what they were talking about before his brain had warned him off the idea in case serious damage was sustained in the process.

“Huh?” was the most probing and insightful question he could articulate, given the circumstances.

“OK, it’s simple,” said Two, in the rich, booming voice that helped make him the most imposing of all the Cals. “The rules of time and space don’t apply inside the void. Yes, things happen, but from a certain point of view—an external point of view—they all happen simultaneously.”

“And not at all,” added Lily, helpfully.

“And, in a very real sense, not at all,” Two agreed.

“Is this the simple part?” asked Cal.

“Just listen,” Two said, impatience burnishing the edges of his voice. “So, the rules of time and space don’t apply. They don’t exist.”

“Inside the Void or outside?” Cal asked.

“Inside! Of course inside!” Two barked. “From our perspective out here, anything inside the Void exists at all points in time. And all at the same time.”

“Right!” cried Cal. “So…”

He shook his head.

“No. No, thought I had it for a second there, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Theoretically, because all points in time within any given Universe correlate to the non-time of the Void…” Lily reasoned.

“Non-time? What the fonk is non-time?” Cal asked, throwing his arms up in despair. “Jesus, I hope we’re getting to the simple part soon.”

Lily ignored him. “…then someone could enter the Void from one point in time, and emerge from it in another.”

Cal didn’t have anything to add to that. Or nothing that didn’t involve a long quizzical stare and some slight drooling.

“What’s the matter, man?” asked Mech. “You want me to draw you a graph?”

Loren stepped up and took over for Cal. “So, you’re saying that we could go into the Void from here, and come out in our own Universe at a different point in time?”

“No,” said Carver Two.

Loren frowned. “No?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Two clarified. “But practically, no.”

Cal tutted. “So, what? That whole conversation was a waste of time? My brain almost shut itself down for nothing?”

“It’s the navigation that’s the problem,” said Lily. “It’s all very well saying we can go into the Void in one time and place and emerge in another, but how do you control that? How do you choose the point?”

Cal waited for more, then realized it wasn’t coming. “Wait, you’re actually asking me? How should I know?”

“I wasn’t. Not really,” Lily told him.

“Couldn’t we find, like, a Time Titan?” Miz asked. “That’s their whole thing, right? Like, time, or whatever?”

“Yes!” Cal cried. “Great thinking. We’ll find a Time Titan! Ideally, Tim, the last one we had. He was fun.”

Carver Two shook his head. “Impossible. Even in the unlikelihood that we could track one down in another universe, their mastery of time would be limited to that dimension. It would serve no purpose within the void, or even within your own universe, were we somehow able to return there. Only a Time Titan from your own dimension would be able to help, and they’re all gone.”

“Damn it!” Cal spat. He shrugged. “So, that’s it? Krone won? It’s over?”

“What about Ronda?” asked Loren. “She’s got her whole seeing the future thing. Could that help?”

“No. Not really,” said Lily. “She sees through time, but doesn’t affect it. She might be able to see where and when we’d need to emerge, but she couldn’t get us there. For that, we’d need someone who could actually manipulate the timestream in some way.”

A silence fell over the group. It was the sort of silence that accompanied the losing side’s supporters as they filed out of the stadium after a particularly depressing routing at the hands of the opposing team. It was a silence that had seen defeat up close and didn’t yet know how to process it.

“As we said, we can relocate you,” Lily began.

Cal’s head snapped up, his face becoming suddenly more animated. “Splurt.”

Splurt rolled himself into a ball on Mizette’s shoulder and eyed Cal with something that might have been curiosity. But might equally not.

“What about him?” asked Two.

“Shizz,” Mech said, whistling through his metal teeth. “Shizz. That’s a fonking good point.”

“What is?” asked Lily.

“Splurt grows and shrinks,” Mech said. “We always wondered how he did it. Where the mass came from.”

“Well, you wondered that,” Cal said. “The rest of us just assumed it was space magic.”

“We didn’t,” Loren argued.

“Shut the fonk up, man, I’m explaining,” Mech said, glaring at Cal. “Some of us wondered where the extra mass came from when he got bigger, or where it went when he shrunk. The Time Titan, he explained it. He borrows mass from himself through time.”

Carvers Prime and Two exchanged glances. “He what?” asked Two.

“He travels back across his own timeline and draws mass from himself so he can get bigger,” said Mech. “Don’t ask me how he does it, we just know that he does.”

“You say we need someone who can manipulate time,” said Cal. “We’ve got someone. And, as a bonus, he has an epic mustache.”

“Even if we did figure out how to go back, what then?” asked Two. “Where would we go? You can’t stop Krone going back in time, because that timeline doesn’t exist any longer. You don’t know where or when to find him.”

Cal rummaged in his back pocket and produced a scrap of yellowing newspaper. “May Second, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight,” he said. “He told me and Mech on his ship that messing with me was one of the first things he did when he escaped the time thingy. Earth. May Second, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight. There’s your where and when.”

Carver Two ran his tongue across his teeth but said nothing.

“So? What do you think?” asked Loren. “Will it work?”

“Almost certainly not,” said Two. “We have no idea how this… squidgy thing of yours does whatever it’s supposed to do. The chances of this ’plan’—for want of a better word—actually achieving anything are so minuscule as to not even be worth attempting.”

Cal nodded. “But we’re going to attempt it anyway, right?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Two’s mouth. “You’re goddamn right we are.”

Lily put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. “That’s a Carver Council guarantee.”

Twenty-One

“Everything OK over there?”

Cal’s voice came over the radio with an accompanying burst of static. Both echoed strangely inside the force field of the Void rig bike.

“Still fine,” Ronda confirmed. “No change from last time you asked.”

Like the majority of people, she had never experienced the Void before, but she was taking to it more than most. While others found nothing but madness among its swirling colors and mind-bending shapes, Ronda was finding the whole experience oddly relaxing. Comforting, even. In a way, she felt like she was finally home.

Splurt, it seemed, was less keen. He vibrated violently in front of her on the Void rig’s padded seat, his blobby body rippling so fast as to be little more than a green blur with eyes. She wasn’t sure if this was part of the process, or if the little guy was just afraid, but there was very little she could do, either way.

“Getting anything?” asked Cal.

“Yes. I’m getting slightly irritated by the interruptions,” Ronda replied. “I’ll contact you when I have something.”

“OK, but how is Splurt doi—?”

Ronda pushed the mute button, silencing him. It was hard enough to concentrate in here, with all its non-existent colors and nonsensical concepts manifesting themselves as shapes and sounds. She could’ve cruised along for hours, just drinking it all in, but the others were relying on her. The Universe was relying on her. And a nun had to do, what a nun had to do.

She felt a slight pull to the left and went with it. The Void rig hummed beneath her as she shifted its trajectory, just a fraction. Splurt’s vibration became even more frantic. As she watched, he seemed to take on several different forms all at the same time, none of them all the way finished. Without making a sound, he screamed, and Ronda’s head was filled with the horrible silence of it.

“There there, little one,” she soothed. “Hang in there.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at the mini-armada cruising along behind them. Thirty or so ships were there, all linked together and all being towed through the Void by the Currently Untitled.

Four other Void rigs matched pace with her own, a different member of the Carver Council sitting astride each bike, ready to protect her. Quite what they’d be protecting her from, they hadn’t bothered to explain, but it was reassuring to have them there, all the same.

“We’re going to get through this,” Ronda promised. “And then, once we’re done, I’m going to make you all the Spit Nibbles you can eat. Deal?”

One of Splurt’s many shapes briefly became both sides of a handshake.

Ronda smiled. He was still with her.

“Deal,” she said again, and the bike flew onward into the Void.

* * *

Cal sat in his chair aboard the Untitled, drumming his fingers impatiently. His joy at seeing Miz slouching in her seat like she’d never left it had been tempered by the fact that Splurt was out there with Ronda, doing… whatever it was they were doing.

“Kevin, how’re those cables holding up?” Loren asked.

“Fine so far, ma’am,” Kevin replied. “As the other ships can’t travel in the void, attaching them all to our own was rather an ingenious idea, if I do say so myself.”

“You didn’t come up with it,” Loren pointed out. “It was Mech.”

“Or perhaps it was me,” said Kevin, in a tone that suggested there were secrets in play here that only he was privy to.

“It wasn’t,” said Mech. “It was me.”

“Or was it, sir?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

Kevin fell silent for a moment. “Alright, we’ll call it a joint effort.”

“Guys! Guys, they’re turning!” said Cal, pointing to the screen. “Look! See?”

“I see,” said Loren.

“They’re turning left! What does that mean?” Cal asked.

“It means they’re turning left,” Mech told him. “You kinda already explained it in the question.”

“But why?” asked Cal. “What’s left? Look, it’s just more Voidy fluidy colory… bleh.”

“Beautifully descriptive, sir,” Kevin intoned. “You really painted a picture with your words there.”

“There’s nothing different that way, is my point,” said Cal. “Unless Ronda has found something.”

He raised his voice. “Ronda? You found something?”

“She’s got you on mute,” said Loren.

Cal gasped, deeply offended. “What? Me? Why would she put me on mute?”

“Because you talk too fonking much,” said Mech. “Hell, sometimes I put you on mute for hours at a time, and just nod when I see your lips move.”

“You do not!” said Cal. “That’s not true.”

Mech stared at Cal’s mouth and nodded.

“OK, that was pretty funny,” Cal conceded.

“She’ll tell us when she finds anything,” said Loren. “We just have to wait.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks and rocked in his chair. “I hate waiting,” he muttered.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, then made tick-tock noises like a clock.

“I spy with my little—”

“Void,” said Mech.

“Damn it!”

Cal’s chair squeaked as he twisted it from side to side.

He stretched out his legs and balanced one foot atop the other so that an onlooker might be persuaded to believe that he had one huge foot. Provided they were quite a long way away. And partially sighted.

He smacked his lips together, making a sound like bubbles popping.

He went further, adding a sort of booow effect to each pop.

He tapped his hands on his knees, then slapped them together in time with each—

“Will you please shut the fonk up?” Mech barked.

Cal blinked. “Huh? What was I doing?”

“What were you doing? You were… I don’t even know what you call it. But stop, OK? Just cut all that shizz out, or I’m gonna punch your face off. I mean it, man. I’ll punch that thing clean off.”

“Jesus. Uptight much?” Cal asked.

He let his feet slide back onto the floor, and sat up straighter. Up ahead, the Void rigs had straightened out again, and very little of interest seemed to be happening, provided you ignored all the mind-bending Voidy stuff going on. Frankly, as far as Cal was concerned, when you’d seen one incomprehensible moment of non-time collapsing and exploding at the same time, you’d seen them all.

“Hey, Miz!” he said, beaming at her as he turned in his chair. “How’s being alive suiting you? Better than being dead, right?”

Miz looked up from her claws. She shot the screen a sideways look, then glanced around the bridge. Finally, she shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

Impressively, Cal’s smile remained fixed in place. “That’s the spirit!” he said, then he used his heels to walk his chair back around until he was facing the front.

“Should we call the others?” he wondered. “Check in and make sure everyone’s OK?”

“They’ll be fine,” said Loren. “We agreed to maintain comm silence, except in emergencies.”

“Can we extend that to apply inside this motherfonking ship?” asked Mech. “Like, nobody says a word unless absolutely necessary to our continued survival?”

“How do we know if there’s an emergency if we don’t ask?” said Cal, ignoring Mech’s suggestion completely. “I mean, that seems like a pretty major flaw in the plan. We should probably check in, just in case—”

There was a slightly squeaky parp from the speakers that stopped Cal in his tracks. “Kevin?” he asked, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Uh, was that you?”

“No, sir,” Kevin replied. “It was a transmission from Madam Ronda. However, she appears to be having some difficulty.”

Cal leaped to his feet. “Difficulty? Shizz. I knew this wasn’t going to work!”

“It was your idea,” Mech pointed out.

“What’s happening to them, Kevin?” Cal demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no, nothing sinister, sir,” Kevin said. “Just some communication problems. Pardon the vulgarity, but it appears the Void is playing silly buggers with her transmission. However, I may be able to assemble the core binary underlying the message and relay that.”

Cal didn’t really know what that meant, but anything was better than nothing at this stage. “Do it.”

“One moment, sir,” said Kevin.

Silence fell. On-screen, the rigs were still going straight ahead, plowing onward into the Void.

“Got it, sir. She says, zero-one-zero-one-zero-one-one-one, zero-one-one—”

“Wait, what?” said Cal.

“They found it,” said Mech, his eyes darting across a pop-up window on the main screen that was crammed with binary code. “They’re going to get to where they need to be in a few minutes, and then everyone needs to get into position.”

“Loren, relay that to everyone else,” Cal instructed. “Tell them to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Loren wondered. “We don’t know what’s going to be waiting for us on the other side.”

“No, but it’s going to be fun finding out,” Cal said. “Assuming we aren’t all instantly killed.”

“That would be less fun,” Loren agreed. “Message sent and acknowledged. Everyone’s ready.”

“Deadman and his guys?” Cal asked.

“Yes.”

“Nana Joan and the Space Teens?”

“Well, they’re all on the same ship, so… yes.”

Cal nodded. “The Carver Council.”

“The woman said ‘everyone,’” Mech snapped.

“Just crossing the I’s and dotting the T’s, big guy,” Cal said. “But fine. Everyone’s ready. Got it.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Narp? Is Narp ready?”

Mech clenched his fists and muttered.

“Presumably, yes,” said Loren. “Narp’s ready.”

“OK, then,” said Cal, narrowing his eyes. “Then here goes!”

Miz raised her eyes to the screen.

“So, like, was something supposed to happen there?” she asked.

“Hm? Oh, no. Not yet. I mean, not necessarily then.”

“Right. It’s just you were, like, all dramatic, or whatever? Here goes,” she mimicked. “Like that.”

“There was a certain urgency to it, sir,” Kevin agreed. “I actually thought I’d missed something for a moment.”

Cal sat down. “No, I wasn’t… I just meant, you know, like, ‘Here goes… soon.’ Like ‘Any minute now, here goes.’ You know?”

“You meant here doesn’t go, sir?” suggested Kevin. “Here doesn’t go, at this particular moment in time.”

Cal sighed. “Yes. Fine. That’s what I meant.”

“Here stays, perhaps?”

To Cal’s relief, the line of Void rigs ahead slowed to a stop. The lead bike hung back a little, as the two on either side pulled forward just a few feet. Each of them deployed a device that Cal couldn’t help but think looked like a high-tech version of a sink plunger. All four devices flew off in opposite directions until they formed the corners of a vast, half-mile wide rectangle.

A line of white light emerged from the top left device, ran all the way to the one on the top right, then headed downward until it reached the third. In just a few seconds, the rectangle was complete, and the space in the middle that had previously just shown yet more Void, flickered shades of electric blue.

“There’s something in there,” Cal said, shielding his eyes with his hand and peering into the glow.

Sure enough, nestled in the heart of the rectangle was a dark pulsing shape. It looked a bit like a mushroom, and also like everything else in the multiverse that wasn’t a mushroom.

But mostly a mushroom.

The sight of it, and the way it undulated around and inside itself, made Cal throw up slightly inside his mouth. Fortunately, everyone else was too transfixed by the mushroom to notice, and he was able to swallow it back down without anyone noticing or passing comment.

“Is that… I don’t know, ‘it’ I guess?” he asked.

Carver Prime’s voice cut in over the speakers. “Ronda has identified the intersection. Your… friend is helping to focus the jump gate, but he’ll have to remain in here for it to stay open.”

“What? No!” said Cal. “We can’t leave him here. Besides, if anyone can take out Krone, it’s Splurt. We need him out there.”

“We need him in here, too,” Lily insisted. “I won’t risk the council becoming stranded. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t get it,” said Mech. “Why do we need him in here? The portal’s already open, right?”

“But he needs to keep it open,” Lily said.

“But—” Cal began.

“Look, let’s not get bogged down in the science of it,” said Lily. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation but, frankly, it’d take too long, and I’m not sure you’d understand it.”

“Just so you know, I resent that,” Cal told her. “I’m very up to speed on the whole ‘science’ stuff.”

“My decision is final,” Lily told him.

“Now, you listen here young lady…” Cal said, but a snort from Lily cut him off.

“Sorry, Ninety-nine. You might look a lot like my dad, but you’re not him. I’m in charge here, and unless you want us to shut down that gate right now, we do it my way.”

“Ouch. She’s got you there, sir,” Kevin said.

“Fonk.” Cal thumped a fist on his arm rest. “Fine. OK. If that’s what has to happen, that’s what has to happen.” He gestured to the lines of binary code on the screen. “Mech, send a beepy numbers thing to Ronda. Make sure Splurt’s OK?”

“A beepy…?” Mech began, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “I’ll call her. How about that?”

“Yes! Do that.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Of course, there’s always another possibility,” he said.

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “What’s that?”

“We cut the cables. We grab Splurt and just zoom on through there and see what’s what.”

“And face Krone on our own?” asked Mech.

“Come on, with us all together? He won’t stand a chance,” said Cal.

Miz flared her nostrils. “I mean, not that I care, or anything, but wouldn’t everyone else just float around in here and die?”

“No!” said Cal. “Not a chance. They’d absolutely find their way back out. You know, eventually.”

“You do know I can hear you, yes?” said Lily.

Cal grinned. “Yeah, I know. Just keeping you on your toes,” he said, then he shook his head and silently mouthed, “Shizz! I had no idea!” to Loren and the others, before drawing his hand across his throat in a ‘cut’ gesture.

Loren flipped a switch. “We’re clear,” she said. “You weren’t really going to leave them all here, were you?”

“No! I mean… It’s an option.” He sat up straighter. “No. We can’t. Right?”

“Right,” Loren agreed.

Cal nodded. “Right.”

“Got word from Ronda,” Mech announced. “Splurt’s doing some weird shizz, but he’s holding up.”

“Ask if he’s OK to stay here and keep up whatever the fonk he’s doing.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She says he wobbled.”

Cal sucked on his teeth. “What kind of wobble?”

“Say what?”

“Was it, like, a…?” Cal shook his whole body in his chair. “Or like a…?” He bounced up and down while flapping his cheeks from side to side.

The others stared at him for a while.

“I don’t know,” Mech admitted. “She didn’t say.”

“Ah well. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Cal. “As long as it isn’t a…”

He spasmed violently, his arms curving up under his chin.

“…then he’s good.”

“He’ll be OK,” said Miz, not looking up from her nails. “He’s Splurt. Splurt’s always OK.”

“Excellent point, expertly made,” Cal said. “I don’t know how we coped without you these last two weeks.”

Miz’s head snapped up. “Two weeks? What? You left me dead for two weeks?”

“We got you back as quick as we could,” Cal protested.

Miz looked down at herself, her face scrunching up in distaste. “Like, ew. Two weeks.”

“It was more like twelve-and-a-half days,” said Cal. “And you were on the cryo-slab for most of it.”

“Most of it?”

“Almost all of it,” Cal said. “Aaaaanyway. We should probably get going. We’re running out of time.”

“Long as we’re in here we got unlimited time,” Mech pointed out.

“Mech, shut the fonk up,” said Cal. “Loren, you ready?”

Loren cricked her neck. “No. But when has that ever stopped us?”

“Kevin?” said Cal, looking up.

“You hollered, sir?”

“You all set, pal?”

“I would be, sir, only you haven’t explained my role in all this. What is it you require of me, exactly?”

“Remember that plan you had earlier?”

“The terrible plan, sir?”

“It was a great plan. It was perfect.”

“If you say so, sir,” Kevin replied. “Would you like me to call it up?”

Cal shook his head. “No. I mean, it’s pointless now. It makes no sense.”

“Oh.”

“But it was solid, and you came up with it quickly, so I need you to do it again. Only with a new plan.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

“In a couple of minutes, we’re going to fly out of this hole and—if everything goes right—we’ll come out near Earth in the early hours of May Second, Nineteen-Eighty-Eight, hopefully catching Krone and his cronies… Shizz. Why haven’t we been calling them that the whole time? Geronimus Krone and the Kronies. That’d be an awesome band name,” Cal realized. He waved a hand. “Ah, too late now. Hopefully, we’ll catch them off-guard.”

“That would be nice, sir.”

“I know, right? Except we have no plan. And I mean, like, no plan. That’s where you come in,” Cal explained. “When we get out there, you fire up your processors or whatever it is you do, and you come up with something. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be workable.”

“I see, sir.”

“Take all the time you need,” Cal said. “As long as it’s less than thirty seconds. Otherwise, we’ll probably all be dead. Got it?”

“Analyze the situation, come up with a plan to defeat Geronimus Krone, his generals, and a thousand thousand warships. Got it, sir.”

“And quickly,” said Cal. “That’s important.”

“I shall do my best.”

“And just because he says ‘a thousand thousand’ doesn’t mean you have to. Call it like it is. Ten million.”

“It’s one million,” said Loren.

“Is it? Great!” said Cal, looking positively buoyant. “That’s, like, a hundred times better than I thought.”

“Ten times better,” Loren corrected.

“Fine, ten times better,” Cal sighed. “Jesus, what are you, the Math Police? It’s less ships than I expected, that’s my point.”

“Fewer,” said Loren.

Cal frowned. “Huh?”

“Fewer ships. Not less.”

“Just fly the goddamn ship through the hole,” said Cal. “And try not to hit anything.”

“Aye aye, captain,” said Loren, pushing forward on the throttle.

“I know you meant that sarcastically,” said Cal, crossing his legs and settling back in his chair. “But I’m totally taking it at face value.”

* * *

“Are we moving?” asked Ollie. She held a hand up and watched it, as if this would somehow answer the question. “I think we’re moving.”

“What gave it away, Peaches?” asked Artur. He was sitting on a chair beside her, propped up on a booster seat and held in place with a special seatbelt. “Was it the way everything ahead of us has started to get gradually larger, d’ye think?”

Deadman sat on the other side of Artur, checking the battery pack on his handgun, Mindy. He hadn’t thought to put it on to charge until just after they’d entered the Void, and it was barely over fifty percent full. Still, it was better than nothing.

“What are ye wagglin’ that thing around for?” Artur asked him. “What are ye gonna do, lean out the window and fire it at passing ships?”

Dan shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, it’s not like I need to breathe.”

“Yeah, but the rest of us do,” Artur argued. “So, I’d appreciate it if ye don’t do that.”

Sliding the gun inside his coat, Dan adjusted his hat, then went back to gazing at the screen ahead. The dwarf Carver with the metal skull plate sat behind the ship’s controls, muttering darkly and, for the most part, incomprehensibly. So far, he’d handled the ship just fine, although they’d been towed behind the other ships the whole time, so Dan suspected this wasn’t necessarily an accurate demonstration of his flying skills.

Still, the other Carvers had been reluctant to pilot Deadman’s ship, and Nana Joan was through the back somewhere giving a pep talk to her guys. This seemed to mostly involve stopping the bigger one crying, while the smaller one shouted at him, and Dan was glad they had taken that particular sideshow off the bridge.

“Liks lik wiroan th’ wye,” announced Dwarf Cal.

“Looks like it,” Artur agreed.

“Aabudy’d best haud oan. Micht git a bittie rough.”

“Good call,” said Artur.

Dan and Ollie both stared down at him.

“What?” he asked, gazing back up.

“You can understand that guy?” Dan whispered.

“What guy?”

“Him,” Dan mouthed, pointing to the diminutive pilot.

“Of course I can understand him. Why wouldn’t I?”

Dan raised his voice. “Hey, uh, pilot? What do you think our chances are of getting through this OK?”

Dwarf Cal puffed out his cheeks. “Nooyer askin’. Fan we gits ben aire, ah dinnae ken fit’ll be bidin’ in wait fur us, ken? Micht well be ships awaye. Yon coorse bugger micht be rarin’ tae chuck ah-hing at us. We cid be fleein’ richt intae a tinchel.”

Dan raised his eyebrows at Artur, while gesturing to Carver Eighty-Three’s back.

“What?” asked Artur. “Which part o’ that were ye struggling with?”

“All of it!” Dan whispered. “It was just noises.”

“Yer arse,” scoffed Artur. “Personally, I thought he made some very interesting points.”

“Uh, guys,” said Ollie. She clutched her armrests until the knuckles of her purple fingers turned white. “I think this is it. We’re going through.”

“Yir nae wrang, quine,” said Dwarf Cal as, up ahead, the Currently Untitled cruised through the portal, narrowly missing one of the four corner projectors.

“They made it,” said Deadman.

“Unless that thing didn’t work, and they were totally fecking vaporized,” said Artur.

Dan sat back in his seat and braced himself. “Well,” he said. “Looks like we’re about to find out.”

Twenty-Two

“Did we make it?” asked Cal, opening one eye and swiveling it around. “Are we alive?”

“We are,” Mech confirmed. “Although, if you ask me again in five minutes, you might get a whole other answer.”

“Jesus Christ!” Cal exclaimed. “Look at all those ships! Are those Krone’s ships?”

“Well, who the fonk else would they belong to?” Mech asked.

“No, I know, but… That’s a lot of ships!”

“It’s a thousand thousand ships, sir,” said Kevin.

“No, I know, but just… Jesus. I didn’t think it’d be that many.”

It was, undoubtedly, a lot of ships. So many ships, in fact, that the Earth was mostly obscured by them. They hung in space, unmoving, silhouetted against the distant Sun. As well as all the fighters, there were a couple of larger ships there, too. Cal recognized one of them as Krone’s, the giant skull being a dead giveaway.

“Kevin, you got that plan ready yet?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know my time had started yet,” Kevin said. “Would you like me to—”

“Yes. Get working on it,” Cal said. “Loren, what about the others? The council ships. Are they through?”

Loren didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the armada ahead of them.

“Loren!”

“Huh? Sorry. What?”

“The council ships. Are they through?”

Loren dragged her eyes away from the viewscreen to check one of the displays on her terminal. “Uh, mostly. Still a couple left to come.”

“OK. And how many does that give us on our side?”

“Thirty-two,” said Loren.

“Fonk. We’re so dead,” Cal said. “Wait. Does that include us?”

“Thirty-three including us.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah, still dead.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Unless… Kevin? What you got for us, pal?”

“I think I’ve cracked it, sir,” said Kevin.

“Great! Shoot,” said Cal, rocking in his chair.

“First, we destroy the fighters,” said Kevin. “Then…”

“OK, OK, gonna stop you there, Kev,” said Cal. “How do we destroy the fighters?”

There was a protracted moment of silence.

“Well, I mean, by shooting at them, presumably. To be honest, the plan is more ‘broad strokes’ than ‘fine detail,’ sir.”

Cal exhaled slowly through his nose. “No, that’s fine. We can develop it as we go. Let’s hear the rest of it.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “First, we destroy the fighters. Then—and this is the clever part—we kill Geronimus Krone!”

Mech ground his jaws together. “Those are some broad motherfonking strokes,” he said.

“Yeah, you weren’t kidding about the lack of fine detail there, were you, Kevin?” Cal said.

“It’s basically sound, sir,” Kevin insisted.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, as a concept, it’s bang on the money,” Cal replied. “Faultless. It’s just that it’s not really a plan, as such.”

“Shizz. They’ve seen us,” warned Loren. “Dropping the tow cables. We’ve got incoming.”

On-screen, several small squadrons—or possibly one big squadron, Cal didn’t really know how to tell—broke away from the thousand thousand ships and came streaking toward the Untitled and all the council ships behind it.

“Ooh fonk. Look out!” yelped Cal, ducking in his seat.

The actual “out” part of his warning spun out of his mouth as Loren plunged into a corkscrewing dive. The Carver Council’s ships opened fire with cannons and torpedoes, taking out a handful of attacking craft before breaking into evasive maneuvers of their own.

“Nice work!” Cal wheezed, once he’d successfully removed his tongue from the back of his throat. “Kevin, start shooting these fonking things. Hit them with everything we’ve got. Carve us a route to Krone’s ship.”

“Very good, sir,” Kevin replied. Almost immediately, the Untitled shuddered as several missiles launched and went streaking across space towards their fast-approaching targets.

“Miz, what are the shields doing?”

Mizette tutted, rolled her eyes, then looked down at the display on her arm rest. “Nothing,” she concluded.

“Nothing? Meaning what? We don’t have shields?” Cal yelped, his whole body spasming with fear.

“Meaning they’re doing nothing. They’re just, like, shielding the ship, or whatever.”

“Oh, thank god,” Cal wheezed.

“Two more fighters coming in hot,” Mech announced. “They’re gonna hit!”

“Shizz!” Loren wrenched the stick and the Untitled banked sharply, sliding between the approaching ships with inches to spare.

“What the fonk? They tried to Kamikaze us!” said Cal.

“You see that?” Loren called back over her shoulder. She was aiming it at everyone, but especially Miz. “Ha! Now who’s a terrible pilot?”

A torpedo flashed across the screen then slammed into the front shield, sending the Untitled into a spin.

“Like, I think we all saw that one coming,” Miz remarked.

“Shields at eighty-four percent,” said Mech. “That one caught us hard.”

“I thought I was doing shields?” Miz said.

“I do shields,” snapped Mech. “I always do shields.”

“You don’t always do shields,” Cal argued.

“Pretty much,” said Mech. “I don’t know why you asked Miz what they were doing a minute ago. That’s my job. Loren flies. You sometimes shoot, but mostly do pretty much fonk all, I report on the shields, and Miz checks the scanners to see if there are any ships around us.”

“There are ships around us,” Miz confirmed. She looked hopefully to Cal. “So, like, am I done? Can I just, like, not get involved now?”

A burst of cannon fire rattled against the shield, forcing Loren to pull up into a steep climb.

“Loren, stop letting them hit us!” Cal said.

“I’m not letting them do anything!”

“Well, I’d beg to differ,” Cal spat back. “Kevin, why aren’t you shooting those fonks?”

“I’ve shot several of the fonks in question, sir, but I’m afraid they rather outnumber us.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Cal.

“By around thirty-thousand-and-three-hundred to one,” Kevin added.

The Untitled flipped, dodging two other ships that crisscrossed toward it. They met head-on in the Untitled’s wake, becoming useless tangles of scrap metal.

“They’re killing themselves,” said Cal.

“They can afford to,” said Mech. “They ain’t gonna run out anytime soon.”

“Are they manned?” asked Loren.

Mech checked the scanners. “They got a single life sign aboard each ship, but I’m fonked if I know what it is.”

Loren gasped as another torpedo screamed straight for them. She jerked the stick wildly, curving them out of the explosive’s path. She completed the maneuver in time to see the torpedo detonating on the shield of a council ship.

“Will, at’s jist great, at is!” barked Dwarf Cal over the comms. “Dinnae ging an’ fash yersel’ on wir account, ken?”

“Haha! Yeah, totally!” answered Cal. He shrugged to the others. “We’ll take that on board.”

“What’s the play here, Muntch?” demanded another voice. Cal would’ve recognized those gravelly tones anywhere.

“Hey, Deadman. First up, it’s Cal, not Nob Muntch. I thought we’d established that? Secondly… How you guys holding up? Space treating you well?”

“Not particularly. Now, what’s the damn plan?”

Cal laughed falsely. “Ha. Yeah. About that,” he said, then he swallowed. “First, we shoot down all these ships, then—”

“Hold up. What?” Dan demanded. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible. Not if you believe hard enough,” said Cal. “If you can dream it, you can do it. That’s my motto. And you know what a dream is? It’s a wish your heart makes. So, you know, there’s that to think about.”

“What the feck’s he on about?” demanded Artur.

“I have no idea.”

Cal hissed and spat static noises in the general direction of where he guessed the microphone might be. “Hello? Pssswwwsshk. You guys are… sssshhhpk… ‘king up. Sssssshrrrk. Sorry!”

He drew his hand across his throat again, making the ‘cut’ gesture. He listened for a moment, before relaxing.

“Think they bought it?”

“Bought what?” asked Deadman.

Cal mouthed a succession of swear words, then did the ‘cut’ motion again. “OK, look at me. Does anyone know what this means? Does anyone actually understand what I’m trying to—”

Two torpedoes detonated against the underside of the Untitled, plunging the bridge temporarily into darkness.

“Shizz. That got us good,” Mech said. “Shields at sixty percent.”

“Loren! Watch for the torpedoes!” Cal cried.

“You said we should look at you!”

“I didn’t mean you! You’re the fonking pilot! You keep your eyes front!”

“We ain’t gonna make it.”

Mech’s voice was low and solemn. The matter-of-factness of it cut through the chatter and the noise, and brought silence to the bridge.

“There’s too many of them,” he continued. “We ain’t doing nothing.”

“I respectfully disagree, sir,” said Kevin. The sky flared as he rained death on another of Krone’s ships. “Why, I’ve single-handedly destroyed almost a fifth of one percent of their fleet already.”

Mech frowned. “Say what? You’ve shot down two thousand ships?”

Kevin hesitated. “What? No. Wait, that can’t be right. Not a fifth of one percent,” he said. “What would twenty ships be as a percentage?”

Cal groaned. “Fonk. Who cares? Just say ‘twenty.’”

“As you wish, sir,” said Kevin. “In that case, I’ve single-handedly destroyed almost twenty ships already.”

“Great,” said Cal, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Well done.”

“Or, more accurately, twelve.”

“Mech’s right,” said Loren. “We can’t do this. We need to abort.”

“Abort? Fonk aborting!” Cal protested. “If we abort, he wipes out the Earth, and then he goes on and does whatever other nasty shizz he’s going to do all over the galaxy. We need to get through these shizznods and get to his ship.”

“We can’t,” Loren insisted. “We can’t even get close. We’d need thousands more ships on our side. We have to pull back and come up with a plan.”

“We already have a plan, ma’am,” Kevin reminded her.

“A better plan!”

Cal’s stomach twisted, making his heart race. “No. We can’t. The things he’s going to do to me. The things he’s going to put me through. He’ll kill everyone but me. And I’m a kid, Loren. I’m a goddamn kid, and he’s going to leave me there with all those bodies.”

“We can come back and pick him up. Or pick you up. Or, I don’t know. We can get clear, then we can come back and get you.”

Cal sat forward in his chair. “Get me now,” he said.

“Say what?” asked Mech.

“Take us down there, we’ll find me, maybe my parents, then we’ll get out of here.”

Loren chanced the briefest of glances in Mech’s direction before taking evasive action to avoid another incoming torpedo and some cannon fire.

“We can’t, man,” said Mech. “We don’t know what that could do.”

“What it could do?” Cal cried. “It could save me. That’s what it could do. It could stop me turning into the crazy potato-head the council picked up when they rescued me. He built mountains of bones, Mech. Mountains of bones.”

“Cal’s right,” said Miz. “We can’t just leave him there and, like, do nothing.”

“How are we supposed to get there? They’ve got the whole planet surrounded so-- Shizz!” Loren hissed, and everyone grabbed onto something as the Untitled was hammered by a volley of torpedoes in rapid succession.

“Shields at thirty and dropping,” Mech announced. “Whatever we’re doing, we need to do it fast.”

Cal looked out through the flickering shield, past the slightly-less-than-a-million fighter ships, to where Krone’s ship sat silhouetted against the Earth like a vast inoperable tumor. Adjust his focus, he looked beyond to the Earth itself, where the US was basking in sunshine. He was down there. His parents. His childhood. A childhood that would be robbed away if they didn’t do something.

“We have to find a way through,” Cal insisted.

Loren gestured to the controls. “Want to try? Because I’ve got nothing.”

“Kevin, can you get us to Earth?”

“Alive, sir?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no leeway on that?”

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid not,” Kevin replied. “There are simply too many of them.”

“Carver Ninety-Nine, this is Prime,” came a voice from the radio. “We’re taking a pasting here.”

Cal’s head dropped. For a moment, he just stared blankly at the floor. Then, with great effort, he sat up straight. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. We need to pull back. Get your people out of here. We’ll regroup.”

“Pull back? That doesn’t sound like you,” Lily told him.

“Yeah, well…” Cal said, but he couldn’t decide on what should come next, so he stopped there.

“Anyway, not why I called. It’s… One sec,” said Lily.

There was the sound of distant cannon fire. Cal held his breath until he heard her speak again.

“Sorry, back. As I was saying, not why I got in touch. I just wanted to warn you, I’ve called in some back-up.”

Cal frowned and sat forward. “Back-up? How?”

“What, you think I left your blob in there for nothing?” Lily asked. “I wanted to be sure they’d get through.”

“Who?” Cal asked.

Loren’s jaw dropped. She took one hand off the yoke for a moment and jabbed a finger at the screen. “Cal, look!”

The portal to the Void was partly visible at the top right of the viewscreen. Dozens of ships screamed out from within it, quickly becoming hundreds, then too many to count. They all looked familiar, but it wasn’t until Cal saw the logo on the side of one of the ships as it zipped past the Untitled that Cal realized who they were.

“Geronimus Krone, the planet Earth is under the protection of Zertex,” came a voice from the speakers. It, too, was familiar, although Cal couldn’t quite place it. “Or, you know, it will be.”

“Zertex!” whispered Loren, going slightly misty-eyed, despite the fact that their past encounters with the organization hadn’t exactly been positive ones.

“It’s a system-wide broadcast,” said Mech. “They’re hailing on all frequencies.”

“So… wait. Is this good?” asked Cal. “Are we cheering for Zertex now? That doesn’t feel right.”

The voice on the speakers continued. “By the orders of Zertex President, Cal Carver—that’s me, by the way. Hi!—lower your defenses, stop this attack, and you know, generally quit being such a shizznod.”

Cal’s jaw had almost hit the floor. “I’m the space president?”

Mech groaned. “Yeah. In some other reality.”

“You knew?” Cal gasped. “You knew I was the space president and you didn’t tell me?”

“You ain’t the space president,” said Mech. “He is.”

“But he’s me!”

Mech shook his head. “No. He ain’t. He’s successful, lives in a big weird skull-shaped castle and is married to—”

He stopped himself from finishing but accidentally shot Loren the briefest of glances. Fortunately, Cal was focusing on something else.

“Is it Castle Grayskull? Tell me it’s Castle Grayskull. Because that’s the dream right… Wait, who am I married to?”

“Uh, don’t matter,” said Mech. He gestured to the screen. Hundreds of thousands of ships crisscrossed through space, bucking and weaving and spinning and diving as each side engaged the other. “Looks like that better, more successful version of you brought the whole of Zertex with him. That’s gonna even the odds.”

The chaos outside reminded Cal of the immediate aftermath of the time he’d kicked a wasps’ nest on a dare, and he was filled with the same instinct to run away. Unlike back then, he ignored it.

“Loren, can you get us to Earth?”

“Earth?” said Mech. “We ain’t going to Earth. We need to get to Krone’s ship and end this. If we do that, then we don’t need to go to Earth. They don’t need to know any of this is even happening.”

“There’s a giant space battle going on near the moon,” Cal pointed out. “I’m sure they know it’s happening.”

“They don’t, sir,” said Kevin. “I asked. They seemed really rather caught off guard. Such a primitive species.”

“See?” Mech barked. “We get to Krone, we take care of business, and no one on Earth is any the wiser.”

Cal shifted in his seat. “I should check I’m OK.”

“Mech’s right,” said Loren. “If we stop Krone, then you’ll be fine. Younger you, I mean. If we go flying in there, we could accidentally change your future.”

“Maybe there are some things in my future I want changed,” said Cal quietly.

“Butterfly effect, man,” Mech replied. “You change one thing, you change everything. Maybe because of something you say, the younger you gets hit by a car in two days and killed.”

“Fine. I won’t say, ‘Randomly cross the road with your eyes shut.’ How about that?”

“You know what I mean,” Mech grunted. “Maybe because of what you say, you never go to space. Maybe we get stuck with an actual cannibal, and not just some shizznod pretending to be one. So Kornack gets Splurt, and Sinclair kills the Symmorium, and then the galaxy goes to shizz. Or maybe Ikumordo destroys all the Earths in the multiverse. Or maybe—”

“Fine. Fine, I get it,” said Cal. “I just…”

He shot the Earth a long, lingering look, then shifted his gaze to Krone’s ship, which was just visible through the swarm of fighters.

“OK. Just take us to Krone. Let’s end this fonk once and for all.”

“You want me to fly through all that?!” Loren replied. Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught the look on Cal’s face, wrestled with some inner voice for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll get us there.”

“You’ve got this,” said Cal. He waited until she’d faced front again before double-checking his seat belt. “Mech, get the council ships to follow us in if they can. Have the others protect our heavy-hitters. We want them aboard Krone’s ship with us.”

“On it,” said Mech.

“Miz,” Cal began.

She flicked her eyes witheringly in his direction.

“You just relax for a few minutes.” He shifted awkwardly, like he couldn’t quite find the words he wanted to say. “And, you know, if you don’t feel up to facing Krone, then we’ll completely understand.”

“Oh, please,” said Miz. She spread her fingers, her claws popping out to their full length. “I’m totally going to be the one to kill that guy.”

“Good to know,” said Cal.

“Unless I have to save Loren again, obviously,” Miz continued.

“Obviously.”

“You didn’t have to save me last time,” Loren pointed out. “I could’ve handled it.”

“You could’ve handled a metal spike through the face?” said Cal.

“I would’ve dodged.”

Miz snorted. “You so wouldn’t.”

Loren rolled her eyes. “Like… whatever,” she said, giving Miz a taste of her own medicine. “Everyone hold on.”

“Is it going to get rough?” Cal asked.

“Rough? No,” said Loren. “It’s going to get batshizz crazy.”

And then she kicked down on two pedals, twisted a twisty thing, and almost broke the handle off the throttle as the Currently Untitled plunged headlong into the angry wasps’ nest of fighters.

Twenty-Three

Cal removed his head from between his knees, wiped the vomit on his sleeve, and made a concerted effort not to meet anyone’s eye.

“Let’s agree to never speak of any of that again,” he wheezed.

“What, you mean the crying and the screaming?” Mech asked.

“You’re speaking of it,” Cal pointed out.

“‘We’re all gonna die! I just shizzed my pants!’” Mech mimicked.

“OK, one, I don’t sound like that. And two, I metaphorically shizzed my pants, not literally,” Cal said. “Well, mostly metaphorically. Also, C, we’re still speaking of it. I thought we agreed?”

“We’re through the worst,” said Loren. On-screen, the underside of Krone’s ship loomed large, the skull motif leering at the Untitled as it approached.

“Thank god,” said Cal. “I think I lost part of my stomach lining on that final approach.”

“We lost a couple of council ships,” said Mech.

“Fonk. Who?”

Mech wanted to say, “No one important,” but felt this might come across as a little insensitive. Or a lot insensitive, depending on who was listening. Instead, he said, “We still got our big hitters,” and waggled his eyebrows in a way that Cal just found plain confusing. And, frankly, sexually suggestive.

“OK, I don’t know what you’re doing with your face, but that’s good,” said Cal. “I mean, not about the dead… You know what I mean. Tell them to follow us in. Loren, let’s ram ourselves down this fonk’s throat, and don’t be gentle.”

“Sir, I have just run an analysis on our approach vector,” said Kevin.

Cal waited.

“And?”

“Hmm? Oh. And nothing, sir. It’s fine. Standard phase shielding, so we should pass through with no problems. I just hadn’t said anything for a while, and was starting to feel rather left out.”

“This feels too easy,” said Loren.

“Tell that to my internal organs and skeleton,” said Cal, nudging away his vomit bucket with one foot.

“It could be a trap,” mused Mech.

“Like, of course it’s a trap,” Miz said. “It’s always a trap with these shizznods. But, like, who cares? We’re totally going to kill him.”

“I like this new go-getter attitude!” said Cal, pointing to Miz. “You are just oozing positivity all over the place, young lady.”

“Ew,” Miz scowled. “Whatever.”

“Oozing it.”

On-screen, the skull-logo tilted as Loren guided the Untitled towards its open mouth.

“Why do bad guys insist on this stuff?” Cal wondered. “I mean… a giant skull. It’s a little on the nose, isn’t it? If I were an evil space guy, I’d be more subtle about it. I’d have, like, a rainbow. Or some puppies. You know, to throw people off the scent.”

“It’s a thirty-mile long battle cruiser, surrounded by a million fighter ships,” Mech pointed out. “Ain’t no one gonna be fooled by no rainbow.”

“Shh, shut up,” said Cal, gesturing to the screen. “Broadcast this to everyone. We’re taking Krone in the mouth. No, wait. Say roughly in the mouth. ‘We’re taking Krone roughly in the mouth.’ Use those exact words.”

“That’s going to give our position away,” said Loren.

“He knows we’re here,” Cal replied. “He’s bound to know.”

“Message sent,” said Mech.

Cal watched the text scroll upward on the bottom right corner of the screen, as various permeations of “Nice!” and “I bet he loves it!” came back from the other Carvers. There was also, Cal noticed with some disappointment, at least one “LMFAO!!!!” in there. He made a mental note to have words with the Carver in question about it later.

A shadow darkened the inside of the Currently Untitled as it passed between the skull’s enormous teeth. Without really meaning to, Cal lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.

“OK, so here’s the plan,” he said. “We land, we shoot the shizz out of anyone and everyone we see, unless they’re obviously one of the good guys, then we find Krone and kill him.” He looked around at the others. “Everyone on board with that?”

“Totally,” said Miz, speaking for everyone.

“Mech, you remember how to get to Krone’s creepy chamber thing?”

Mech nodded. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Good. Then we get there, hit him hard and fast with everything we’ve got, and we don’t let up until he’s all the way dead. Any questions about the plan?” Cal asked. “No?”

“It ain’t a complex plan,” Mech pointed out. “I think we got it.”

The Untitled touched down in a docking bay with a clank that juddered all the way through the ship and its occupants.

“That was actually pretty smooth,” said Miz.

“Right? That wasn’t bad,” said Loren, trying to remain cool while positively beaming with pride.

“I mean, like, compared to normal.”

“Yeah,” said Loren, unfastening her belt and leaping out of her seat. “I know what you meant.”

Cal watched as two other council ships docked ahead of them, and felt the rumble of others coming in for a landing on either side of the Untitled.

“Looks like we’re all in,” said Mech. “It’s all too easy.”

“It’s just easy enough,” Cal argued. “Now, let’s get all the guns we can carry, get out there, and end this thing.”

He tried to unclip his belt, but the fastener was stuck. “Damn it.”

“Want a hand?” asked Loren.

“Hmm? No, I got it,” said Cal. “You get out there, I’ll catch you up. Grab me a gun on the way out.”

Loren nodded, then led the way off the bridge. There were no theatrical sighs or eye-rolls from Miz. Instead, she bounced up, her claws extended, ready to fight.

“You should hurry, or I won’t leave any of him for you,” she said as she passed Cal’s chair.

“You’d better!” Cal called after her, frantically tugging on his belt.

“You sure you don’t want a hand with that, man?” Mech asked.

“It’s a seatbelt. I got it,” Cal said. “Go. Get them organized. Look after them until I get there.”

A frown furrowed Mech’s brow, just for a moment, but then passed. “Yeah. OK. Just hurry.”

“Trying!” Cal said. “If everyone would just shut the fonk up I’d be done a lot sooner!”

He waited until Mech had clanked off along the corridor, then dropped the act.

“They off?” Cal asked.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“The others. Are they off the ship?”

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to call them back?”

“No,” Cal said quickly. “When it’s clear, I want you to close the hatch and get us out of here.”

There was a moment of confusion from the AI. More so than usual. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure I follow. Why would I take us out of here? Where are we going?”

“Home,” said Cal. “I’m going home.”

* * *

Mech, Loren, and Miz watched the others pile out of their ships, most of them laden down with blasters of various shapes and sizes. The crew of Deadman’s ship wielded a variety of different weapons, from Carver Eighty-Three’s ax to Dan’s hand cannon, Mindy.

Nana Joan had a veritable arsenal strapped across her frail body, including two portable torpedo launchers, a selection of homing mines, and an intestinal disruptor weapon that was illegal in every sector of the galaxy but one. And the one sector it was permitted in was devoid of all sentient life, so its legality was merely a technicality.

Along with those, she had a number of sharp pointy things strapped to her arms and legs, a laser-targeting system fixed in place over her head, and a baseball bat with a nail through it in a sling on her back. Technically, it was a Bludgeonball bat, but it was so similar to a baseball bat that only those with extensive professional-level experience in either sport would be able to tell the difference.

The only people not carrying guns, as far as Mech could tell, were Ollie, Artur, Narp, and Alan, the smaller of Nana Joan’s boys. Higgsy, the larger of the two, was carrying a gun, but he was holding it upside down, back to front and—inexplicably—inside out.

“It fell apart in my hands,” he explained to anyone who’d listen. Which was pretty much no one. “It’s fine. I’ll just wave it around and try to look intimidating.”

“Good luck with that,” Miz snorted, which made Higgsy back away in fright.

“Should we get a gun for the little guy?” Deadman asked.

“Ye talkin’ about me, ye ugly great bollocks?” asked Artur from down at floor level.

“Huh? Oh. No. The not-so-little guy,” said Dan, gesturing to Alan.

Alan stretched himself up to his full unimpressive height and puffed out his chest. “I don’t need a gun. Trust me. I’ll get in there, and I’ll mess this dude up bare-handed.”

Dan looked him up and down. Due to Alan’s height, he was able to achieve this without actually moving his eyes. “You will, huh?”

Mech clanked up to join them. “He will,” Mech confirmed. “And believe me, it is a sight to behold.”

Carver Prime had been quietly dishing out orders to the members of the council that had survived the journey. They assembled behind her, weapons ready, eyes scanning the landing bay for signs of danger. Of which, they were pleased to note, there were currently none.

“Do we have a bead on Krone?” Lily asked.

Mech checked his scanners. “No. Too much interference in here. Got life signs, though. And if he’s aboard, I have a pretty good idea where he’ll be.”

Loren checked the blaster rifle she’d taken from the gun cabinet, then nodded in approval. “Now, all we need to do is wait for Cal to…”

The Untitled’s take-off thrusters ignited, lifting the ship off the floor on a cushion of heat.

“What the fonk?” Mech muttered.

“Cal?” Loren called out, but the landing ramp closed with a clang, and she had no idea if he’d even heard her. “Kevin, what’re you doing?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Kevin’s voice chimed from the ship’s external speakers, then everyone ducked for cover as the Currently Untitled spun toward the exit and full-impulsed out into space.

As the roar of the ship’s engines faded, a stunned silence fell.

“Uh, so… like… huh?” said Miz.

“The shoitebag’s upped and ran away!” Artur remarked.

“Fit why’s-e dinnat?” wondered Carver Eighty-Three.

“Because he’s a great big cowardly bastard,” replied Artur.

Mech shook his head. “He’s a lot of things, but I ain’t ever known him to duck a fight.”

“He’s going to Earth,” Loren realized. “Shizz. The whole thing with the seatbelt was a con. He wanted us off the ship so we wouldn’t stop him going to Earth.”

She set off running for one of the other ships. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Mech stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“What are you doing? You can’t go after him. We need you here.”

Loren frowned up at him. “We can’t just let him go to Earth. What if something happens?”

“If we don’t stop Krone, there won’t be any Earth,” Mech pointed out. “There won’t be much of anything. This is our one chance to take this motherfonker out. We need you.”

Loren looked past him to the ship, then back at the landing bay shield. The chaos of the battle still raged outside.

“People have died to get us here,” said Carver Prime. “Good people. We can’t blow this chance.”

Loren tore her gaze away from the space battle. Her shoulders sagged, just a little. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay. But if anything happens to him…”

“Then it’s his own stupid fault,” Mech said. “Like it always is. Now come on, let’s move out and—”

He stopped talking. A whispering reverberated around the docking bay, bouncing off the walls and echoing back as a series of hisses and whooshes.

“Wh-what is that?” whimpered Narp.

“Miz? What’s it saying?” Loren asked.

“Nothing,” said Miz, her ears flicking to all four corners of the vast room. “It’s not a voice. It’s more like…” She cocked her head. “Movement. Like, lots of movement.”

The realization of what this meant hit her.

“Something’s coming!”

“Form four groups, each group mark a door,” Mech barked. “If it opens, start firing.”

“Don’t ye worry yerself about a thing now,” said Artur, sidling up to Miz’s foot. “I’ll keep an eye on ye.”

Miz glowered at him for a moment, then brushed him aside with her paw.

Meanwhile, the others had more or less succeeded in splitting into four groups, and now had their weapons trained on one of the four doors. They stood there, ready and waiting, as the hissing and whispering grew louder around them.

There was a sudden flurry of movement behind them. Mech and several of the others spun in time to see Narp retreating into one of the ships.

“Ye feckin’ coward!” Artur hollered after him.

“Forget him. Focus on the doors. Wait until they open,” Mech said. “If we’re lucky, they won’t be expecting us to start firing as soon as they show their faces.”

“Uh,” said Miz. “Guys?”

Her ears flicked upward. Somewhere in the gloom up near the ceiling, dozens of hatches slid open and shapes began to tumble through. Technically just one shape, but lots and lots of examples of it.

One of them dropped to the floor directly in front of Mech, and for a moment everyone just stared. The thing wasn’t particularly big—the size of a coffee-table, maybe—but it compensated for this by being fonking horrifying.

It was mostly made up of legs. This one had nine, although some of the others that landed had anything between seven and twelve. They were disturbingly human-looking, albeit with an extra knee halfway down the shin, and toes that looked to have been set in place with a series of blunt instruments.

Where the thighs all met was a bowl-shaped nest of fleshy ass-cheeks. Cupped inside this was a brain, three eyes, and a hooked proboscis. Not necessarily in that order.

All this information was processed by Mech in the zero-point-three seconds between the thing landing and him blasting it to pieces. It died with a satisfying kerthlunk, spraying brain and legs and buttocks in all directions.

“I hope that wasn’t on our side,” Ollie remarked, then she brought up her hands as more and more of the things tumbled from the ceiling.

A panicked muttering rippled through the group.

“What are y’all waiting for?” Mech roared. “Kill these ugly motherfonkers!”

“You heard the robot!” called one of the Carvers as he raised his blaster rifle. “Fire!”

“I ain’t no fonking robot!” Mech said, but his protests were drowned out by the screaming of blaster fire that filled the docking bay.

* * *

Cal sat glued to the viewscreen, watching the United States spreading across it. “Jesus. Look at it,” he said. “It’s alive. It’s actually alive.”

“It isn’t, sir. It’s merely a gathering of rock around a central magma core.”

“No, I mean… there’s life on it.”

“Indeed, sir,” Kevin confirmed. “Although, there was life on it last time we were here, too. Admittedly, it was almost exclusively the parasitic killer insects who had wiped out all native life, but still.”

“Kevin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Maybe we should both shut the fonk up for a while.”

“Very good, sir.”

“But mostly you.”

“…”

“That a boy.”

Cal went back to staring. The flight through the battling fighter ships had been rough. Shield strength was in the single-digit range, part of a tailfin had been sheared off, and quite a copious amount of vomit currently sloshed back and forth in the grooves on the floor.

But they’d made it. They were out of the battle, through the atmosphere, and headed home. Specifically, to a patch of waste ground tucked behind some old houses that, if Cal’s memory was correct, would be demolished sometime in the next year.

“I used to play out there all the time,” he’d told Kevin as he’d highlighted the area on a scanner map. “No one ever goes there. Hopefully, we’ll get in and out unnoticed.

Kevin had pointed out that while people might not stumble upon the Untitled after it had landed, there was a very good chance that anyone glancing upward would spot it coming down.

That was when Cal had one of his more ingenious ideas. He’d had Kevin launch a series of brightly colored flares way off in the opposite direction to their approach, hoping that they could sneak in for a landing while everyone was going, “Ooh!” and pointing the wrong way.

Kevin hadn’t been overly convinced of the chances of this plan being successful, but Cal had jammed his fingers in his ears and sung loudly until the AI had stopped voicing his concerns.

As the ship descended, Cal began to recognize some of the city’s landmarks. There was the airport. The Eagles’ stadium. Which meant the Liberty Bell was roughly… that way.

Or was it more to the north.

In fact, was this even Philly?

The closer they got, the smaller it looked. What Cal had thought was an airport and football stadium were, on closer inspection, a gas station and a field.

“Uh, we’re going to the right place here, right?” Cal asked.

“Indeed, sir,” Kevin confirmed.

“Philadelphia?”

“Correct, sir.”

“Philadelphia, Pennsylvania?”

There was a pause. Not a long one, but enough to confirm a few of Cal’s suspicions.

“You mean Mississippi, sir.”

“No. I mean Pennsylvania,” Cal sighed. He vaguely recalled having heard about another Philadelphia in the south, but hadn’t felt it worth clarifying to Kevin.

The Currently Untitled droned as it changed direction.

“Won’t be a moment, sir,” Kevin said. “I’ll have you there in a jiffy.”

* * *

Several jiffies and a few brightly colored sky distractions later, the Untitled touched down on a patch of waste ground at the back of four blocks of houses that were desperately in need of being demolished.

“We’re here. Shizz. We’re here,” Cal whispered. He unclipped his belt without any problems and jumped to his feet.

He could feel his legs shaking. He was on Earth. And not just any Earth—his Earth, back when he was young and carefree, and the world was full of possibility. He was alive out there. His parents were alive out there. His friends. His teachers.

Cal leaned against Loren’s empty chair, supporting himself. Caroline. Fonk. His wife was out there somewhere, just a kid like him. She’d grown up near Houston, then her family had moved when she was twelve or thirteen. But she was out there. Alive. Completely unaware of his existence.

“OK, I’m going to go find myself,” Cal said.

“Very deep, sir,” said Kevin. “I heard meditation is very good for such matters.”

“No, literally. I’m going to find young me, go grab his… my… our parents, then we’re going to get out of here. Just in case the guys don’t stop Krone. Which they will. But just in case.”

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Kevin asked.

“Can you fix the shields? Get us ready to go?”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.”

“Good. And try to stay out of sight. The ship, I mean.”

“How do you suggest I do that, sir?” Kevin asked. “Duck?”

“Just try not to get into any trouble,” Cal said.

“I shall leave that to you, sir,” Kevin told him. “Would you like me to keep in touch via your chip?”

Cal frowned. “Huh?”

Like this, sir, said Kevin.

It took Cal a moment to realize he’d heard it inside his head.

“Wait. You can do that?”

Evidently, sir.

OK, cool, thought Cal.

Kevin didn’t reply.

You have to speak out loud, sir, or the chip won’t process it.

“Oh. OK. Like this?”

That is speaking out loud, sir, yes, Kevin confirmed. Well done.

Cal drew in a deep breath. “OK, I’m going. I’ll find myself, get the parents, then be back here in, like twenty minutes. I’ll try to keep in touch, but if you don’t hear from me in an hour, then…”

Fly away and never come back?

“No! Come find me!”

Very good, sir. Although that will make the hiding part somewhat more difficult.

“If I’m not back, we’ve got bigger problems,” Cal said. He made for the door, paused to check his reflection in a shiny metal plate near the rear hatch, and nodded. “OK, drop it. I’m going out.”

Best of luck, sir.

Cal took a moment to enjoy the taste of the air as it swirled up inside the ship. His legs trembled as he descended the ramp, forcing him to hesitate at the bottom before taking that final step onto solid ground.

It felt just as he remembered beneath his feet. Solid. Groundy. His boots left faint imprints in the dry soil as he walked away from the ship. They were the only prints he could see, other than the tracks of a bike that crisscrossed over the…

Bike.

Shizz.

Cal stopped and stared down at those tracks. The memory of his old BMX wheelied into his head. Were these his tracks? Had he made them?

Turning, Cal looked back at the Untitled. The ramp was rising into position, and closed with a faint clank.

Something squirmed in the darkest corners of Cal’s memory when he saw the ship standing on the waste ground, those crumbling houses slouching in the middle distance. The squirming became a fast boil, and a memory of this moment rose like a bubble to the surface.

“I… I remember this,” he whispered. “I remember the ship.”

Well, you only left it a few seconds ago, sir, Kevin pointed out. I’d be gravely concerned if you didn’t.

“No, here. I remember it here. I remember…”

Cal turned, searching the waste ground. He stopped when he saw the boy on the bike. The kid had slid forward off the seat so both feet were planted in the dirt, and now stood staring at Cal and the Untitled.

There were two things the boy wore that Cal noticed. The first was his expression of absolute shock and disbelief. The second was a Transformers T-Shirt that Cal recognized on a number of levels.

“Oh boy,” Cal whispered.

Twenty-Four

Mech held two deformed feet in one hand, and three in the other. He jerked both arms in opposite directions, and the leggy-brainy-eye thing tore in half roughly down the middle.

Spinning, he swung out with one of the halves, smashing another of the critters to the floor mid-leap. Carver Eighty-Three’s ax sliced it horizontally through the eyeballs, neatly cleaving its brain in two.

The air was filled with the sound of squealing and the smell of burning flesh. And, in close proximity to Higgsy, the smell of terror-induced incontinence.

Legs and eyes and ass-cheeks lay strewn across the floor. Brain-matter painted the sides of the ships, and most of the people who had flown in on them. The creatures were weak and died easily, but they were still falling from the ceiling, and the sheer weight of their numbers would eventually turn the tide of battle in their favor.

Miz was having the time of her recently resumed life slashing and chomping through the things, and the Carvers were handling themselves admirably. Loren was as dependable as always, and Nana Joan had decimated the creatures’ ranks single-handedly.

The Deadman crew were all doing more than their fair share—Ollie, especially, seemed to have a gift for squishing the things, although the fact that she could do so with just a wave of her hands was definitely an advantage.

But none of it mattered, Mech was coming to realize. Everyone was moving more slowly than they had been when the onslaught had started. They weren’t tiring much yet, but fatigue was definitely setting in. How long did they have left? Another half hour? Maybe less.

“We can’t keep this up,” Mech announced. He blasted another of the leg-brain things, then stomped on the remains. “Some of us gotta make a break for the door. It’s the only way we’re gonna get to Krone.”

“The council will stay here,” said Carver Prime, pumping a few blaster rounds into the exposed underside of a creature that Carver Two had flipped over with his staff. “The rest of you go.”

“You can’t handle them all alone,” said Loren, bringing a boot down sharply on a brain, and burying her foot in it up to the ankle. With a kick, she sent it tumbling off across the docking bay, then spun and shot two more of the creatures out of the air. “There are too many of them.”

“Got it!” announced Narp, his voice crackling from the speaker system of the ship he was hiding in.

Overhead, there came the squeak and clang of hatches slamming closed. It was followed by the thud-thud-thudding of things jumping up and down on the other side.

“It won’t keep them out forever, but it’ll buy us some time,” said Narp.

Across the room, one of the garage-style doors rolled up. “Mech, I’m sending you the fastest route to Krone’s central chamber. I’ll update you if anything changes.”

“Ye’re still a feckin’ coward, ye shoitebags!” Artur hollered at the ship. He grinned behind his beard. “But I like ye.”

“You sure you got this?” Mech asked Lily. She nodded, cracked a leg-thing on the brain with the butt of her gun, then motioned toward the open door.

“Go,” she said. “End this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Everyone who ain’t part of the Carver Council, follow me. It’s time to go kill the King of Space.”

* * *

Before Cal could say anything more to the boy on the bike, the boy jumped into his seat, spun his back wheel, and pedaled furiously away across the waste ground.

“Wait! Hey! Don’t go!” Cal cried.

He’s going, sir.

“I can see that.”

Quite fast, too.

Cal threw himself into a run. “Jesus. I remember this, too! I remember being chased. How is that possible?”

Some sort of time thingy, I suspect, Kevin reasoned.

Cal skidded on some loose stones but quickly found his balance. Young Cal powered ahead on his BMX, the distance between them growing every second.

“Can you be more specific?” Cal asked, changing direction and heading for the backyard of one of the houses over on his left. If he could get over there and out front, he might be able to cut himself off.

At a guess, I’d say your memories are being rewritten based on the experiences this earlier version of you is having now.

“OK, that makes sense,” Cal conceded, clumsily vaulting a fence. “I think. Does it make sense?”

More or less, sir, said Kevin. But best not to over-analyze these things, I always say.

“Good call,” Cal agreed, charging through the house’s overgrown backyard, then around the side of the building. A tall gate blocked his path, but the wood was visibly rotten and collapsed as he hurled himself through it.

“So wait,” Cal said, launching himself along the front path. “Why don’t I remember what happens next?”

Because it hasn’t happened yet.

“Right. Right. Also makes sense. I think,” Cal said. The front gate was ahead. He powered for it, then launched himself into an impressive leap.

Just not quite impressive enough.

His foot caught on the top of the gate and his forward momentum suddenly took a much more downward turn. His jaw slammed against the sidewalk, then he heard the familiar clacking of Spokey Dokey plastic beads sliding up and down on the spokes of a BMX bike as it whizzed past him just out of reach.

“Ow. Hey. Wait!” he groaned, stumbling to his feet and clicking the lower half of his face back into approximately the correct position.

He isn’t waiting, sir.

“I know! I can see that!” Cal hissed, setting off at a sprint. If his younger self made it to the end of this street, Cal would almost certainly lose him. He’d probably head for home, so it wasn’t the end of the world, but he’d wanted to get himself onboard before approaching their parents.

Heading home meant he’d go left at the end of the street, Cal calculated. That meant there was still one Hail Mary play left. Swerving back into one of the gardens, he raced out through the backyard and made for the row of houses that stood at a right angle to this one. The back of one of the buildings had completely collapsed and was held up by scaffolding. Cal ran at it, his legs powering like pistons against the ground.

“So… wait,” he wheezed. “If I’m remembering this, does that mean the other me is, too?”

Which other me? The young one?

“No. The other other me. From the other timeline Earth. The young me, but older.”

Oh, him. Sorry, sir. It’s very hard to keep up with you all. No, he won’t be remembering any of this, sir. He’s dead.

Cal faltered then, almost tripping on a small stack of planks left abandoned near the scaffolding. “He’s what? No. He can’t die. Krone made sure of that. He heals. Like me, but better.”

Well, the ship he was on was vaporized during the assault on Krone’s ship, sir. So, unless he’s able to recover from his atoms being scattered through space, I think we can safely assume he won’t be joining us again.

Cal felt his stomach twist, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. The poor guy had tried to kill himself more or less every night since Krone had turned up, but had always been deprived that final curtain. Maybe it was best that he was gone. If everything went to plan, he’d never have to exist in the first place.

Probably.

Although, Cal couldn’t quite figure out what the rules of all this time travel stuff actually were.

Or even if there were any.

Fonk it. He could figure out how he felt about that particular him dying later. For now, he had to go stop himself from getting away.

Leaping onto the scaffolding, Cal frantically clambered up it. These houses, if he remembered correctly, had no front yard, and opened pretty much straight onto the sidewalk. If he was right, then this plan might work. If he was wrong, he was about to do something stupid for nothing.

Cal ran through a crumbling bedroom, across a decaying upstairs landing, then into an empty room that reeked of urine and rat-shizz. The window was right ahead of him. He prayed it was as weak as it looked.

Roaring, Cal threw himself through the glass. The whole window exploded out of its frame and he sailed out of the house in a cloud of spores, dust, and glass-fragments.

He’d half-expected one of those Wile E. Coyote type moments, where he’d feel like he was hanging in mid-air for a moment. Instead, the sidewalk rushed up to meet him before he could fully process what was happening. He hit it hard with a crunch, a blood-spurt, and a not-inconsiderable amount of crying.

The clacking of Spokey Dokeys and the squealing of brakes were suddenly loud in his ear. He oofed as the front tire of a bike slammed into his ribs.

The memory bubble burst inside his brain. He remembered the sensation of weightlessness as he’d come off the bike, the terrifying moment of panic as he’d gone sailing through the air above this bloodied, shapeless mass that had smashed on the ground dead ahead of him, the sensation of pain as he’d hit, crunched, then rolled.

And the gnawing sense of terror as the hand had clutched him around the ankle, and a face that looked like it had been assembled from partially chewed bits of sausage smiled at him.

“Hey, Cal,” Cal slurred through his burst and bloodied lips. “You and me need to talk.”

* * *

“I thought you said you’d warn us if anything was coming?!” Mech spat, launching a volley of blaster fire from his arm cannons along the corridor ahead. Several brainy-leg things erupted, but there were so many of them flooding along the passageway that the loss of a few made no real difference.

“I said I’d try to,” Narp said through the speaker in the cyborg’s arm. “Believe it or not, this is the clearest route.”

“Seriously?” grunted Deadman, firing a couple of explosive rounds into the fast-approaching swarm. “How can the other routes be worse?”

“Trust me, they’re waaay worse,” said Narp. “Your best chance is to… Oh.”

“Oh?” said Loren. “What’s ‘Oh?’”

“You’ve got company,” Narp said.

“Ye’re too fecking right we do!” Artur snapped. “Hundreds o’ the bastards. What d’ye think we’ve been shooting at for the past five minutes?”

“No, I mean coming up behind you,” Narp said. “They must’ve come through the maintenance shafts.”

Miz turned, flicking her ears up. “Ugh. He’s not lying. We’ve got a problem.”

“Don’t ye fret now, darlin’,” Artur told her. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

“Are we trapped?” Ollie asked.

Dan shifted awkwardly. “Well, I mean, it depends on your definition of ‘trapped.’”

“We’re blocked in on both sides with no way out,” said Ollie.

Dan nodded. “Yeah. Well, by that definition, yeah. We’re trapped.”

Nana Joan tossed one of her more serious-looking weapons to Deadman. “Everyone concentrate fire behind us. Alan will clear the way up ahead,” she said.

All eyes fell on Alan. He scratched his head and winced a little.

“That feckin’ midget?” Artur snorted, completely missing the irony. “What’s he going to do? Bite their kneecaps?”

“I don’t know, Nana,” said Alan. “There’s a lot of them.”

Nana Joan smiled kindly down at him. “You’ll be fine, dearie,” she said, then she powered a kick between his legs with enough force to launch him along the corridor.

“Fonk. That seems kinda rough,” said Deadman, as the whimpering Alan plopped down in the swarming horde of leg-things and was immediately buried under the weight of them.

They all waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

“Ye feckin’ killed him,” Artur observed.

“Shizz. Incoming!” Loren barked, opening fire in the opposite direction. Hundreds of the multi-limbed creatures came skidding around a bend, tripping over themselves to be the first to reach the group.

“Concentrate fire on them, and Alan will take care of the others,” Nana Joan insisted.

“Sure, if ye’re hoping they’ll all be held up eating him, I wouldn’t go holding yer breath,” said Artur. “Even I could polish that guy off before breakfast and holy shoite, what the feck is that thing?”

Alan exploded up from within the mass of squirming leg-things, shrugging them off like flakes of dandruff. His diminutive frame had become an oily black mass that heaved like living putty as he raised his enormous arms above his refrigerator-sized head and roared with enough force to make the three nearest leg-things implode.

“I have no idea,” Deadman said.

“He’s a Kholo,” said Higgsy, as if that explained everything.

Ollie looked from the monster-Alan to Artur. “Can you do that?” she wondered.

Artur sucked on his beard. “Sure, I reckon I could if I put me mind to it,” he said. “But I’d ruin me dress, so I probably won’t bother.”

“That is totally awesome,” said Miz, admiring the ease with which Alan smashed through the crowd of creatures.

“Like I say, I could do it if I wanted. But I don’t,” Artur told her. “It’s undignified.”

“Alan’s got his side under control,” Nana Joan said. She launched a volley of explosive rounds along the corridor behind them. “We need to take care of our end.”

“You heard the lady,” Mech barked, raising both arms. “Let’s take these motherfonkers down!”

* * *

Cal gazed down at his younger self and smiled. It was a smile he’d seen in a painting of Mary and the baby Jesus once, and while he wasn’t comparing himself to either—although, if he were pushed, he’d say there were definitely some similarities—he thought that sort of ‘benign and wise’ look might help his case.

He’d had to repeat everything several times, mostly to be heard over six-year-old Cal’s screaming, and his desperate pleas of, “Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!”

In hindsight, dragging the kid into one of the abandoned houses may have suggested a certain serial killery vibe that probably didn’t help set his mind at rest. Cal could remember the terror of it all now—the unshakable knowledge that this monster with his limp, broken arm, and his face like whipped pancake batter was going to kill him. The fear of never seeing his parents again. Of never finding out what happened in the second episode of that Knight Rider two-parter. Was KITT really gone? He’d never know.

Then Cal had remembered his growing sense of amazement as his abductor’s injuries had healed before his eyes, becoming something more human-looking. Familiar, even.

Remembering the sight of himself through his younger self’s eyes, it suddenly struck Cal how much he looked like his father, and the confusion this had caused him at the time.

And now, after his screaming had stopped, and Cal had assured him that the bladder malfunction was nothing to be embarrassed about, given the circumstances, six-year-old Cal looked up at him, his face as innocent and serene as… Hell, he was just going to come right out and think it… as the baby Jesus.

“Bullshizz,” said younger Cal. Even though they were both speaking English, the censorship functionality of Cal’s translator chip kicked in, altering the word. It took Cal a moment to figure this out.

“Huh?” He frowned.

I think he said, ‘Bullshizz,’ sir.

“I know what he said, Kevin!” Cal replied.

Young Cal’s eyes widened in confusion.

“My name’s not Kevin.”

“No, I know. I was talking to… Doesn’t matter. What do you mean, ‘Bullshizz’? Since when did we use language like that, young man?”

Young Cal hung his head. “Sorry.”

“I should think so.”

They sat on the floor in what had probably once been a living room, hidden from view by the grime-encrusted windows. The memories of this exact moment kept growing inside Cal’s head, like a story still in the process of being written. Whenever he said anything, a hazy paraphrased version popped into his head, too, surrounded by a swirling aura of old emotions. Terror, mostly, but that was now gradually being replaced by amazement and wonder.

It was working. He was starting to believe himself.

“I know it sounds crazy, Cal, but it’s true. I’m you. From the future. And space.”

“If you’re me, how can you be from space?”

“OK, so I’m not from space. I’m from here. Just like you. We don’t go to space for a long time, and only after… Know what? It’s complicated. The point is, you’re in danger.”

Young Cal bristled.

“No, not from me. From the most powerful man in the Universe.”

“He-Man?”

“What? Shizz. No. The most evil man in the… Fonk knows. A bad guy. A really bad guy,” Cal explained. “Look, I know this is hard to hear, but he comes down in a spaceship and he kills everyone, except you.”

Young Cal, who had first looked excited during that previous sentence, then alarmed, now appeared relieved. “He doesn’t kill me? Cool.”

“No, not cool. He makes you immortal.”

“Still sounds pretty cool.”

“Yeah, well that’s because you’re six, and we were an idiot back then,” said Cal. “He leaves you alone with nothing but decaying corpses, and crumbling cities, and a sky filled with dust.”

“Dust?”

“Yes. Can’t believe that’s what you focused on in that sentence, but fair enough.” He pointed upward. “My friends are up there right now, trying to stop him.”

“The bedroom?”

“Jesus. No. Space. They’re up there in space trying to stop him.”

Young Cal frowned. “Then why aren’t you up there helping them?”

For a moment, Cal was taken aback. “Well, I mean, I wanted to make sure you were OK. You and…” he swallowed “…Mom and Dad.”

“But if you killed the bad guy, we’d be safe, right? Everyone would be safe?”

“Right,” Cal admitted. “I mean… Look, it’s a backup plan, kid. What do you want me to say? Do you want to come in my spaceship or not?”

Young Cal’s eyes widened. At first, Cal assumed it was in excitement, but then the memory of a figure in uniform popped into his head, just as the barrel of a police service revolver was pressed against the back of it, and a voice growled, “Don’t move a goddam muscle!”

Twenty-Five

Mech, Loren, Miz and the Deadman crew hurried along yet another corridor, the distant roars of monster-Alan echoing from somewhere behind them. He’d smashed through hundreds of the brainy-legs, then gone racing off, presumably in search of other things to bludgeon out of existence with his massive putty fists.

Nana Joan and Higgsy had set off after him, though not before Nana had given one of her many spare weapons to Loren. It was a rifle that was almost as long as Loren was tall, and which Nana had introduced as a ‘Cobra Assault Cannon’. Loren had been instructed to take the lead with it, as nobody had felt comfortable having her walking behind them with the fonking thing.

“We’re getting close,” said Mech.

“And you’re getting more company,” Narp warned them. “Door ahead and on the left. Twenty or so.”

“Sure, we’ve dealt with hundreds o’ the bastards already,” Artur pointed out. He was back in Deadman’s pocket, his little legs having made it impossible to keep up. “What’s a few more?”

“I hate to agree with the… like, whatever that thing is,” said Miz. “But we can totally deal with twenty.”

“No, I don’t think it’s—” Narp began, but the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the screams of blaster fire tearing along the corridor toward them.

“Argh! Shoite! That was close!” cried Artur as one of the bolt punched a hole in Deadman’s chest, just a little to the right of where he was currently nestled.

“Speak for yourself,” Dan grunted, poking a finger into the hole while raising his handgun, Mindy, and squeezing off a couple of explosive rounds.

Or, at least, that was the intention. Instead, Mindy let out a series of depressed-sounding chimes, alerting him to a low battery. Fonk. Those explosive shots really drew down the weapon’s charge.

While Mech returned fire, Dan cycled through the gun’s various modes. Kill shots were out. Stun shots were possible, but the squadron of black-clad figures currently piling out of the doorway were heavily armored, so unlikely to be affected.

Slowdown rounds? Not enough juice.

Wait. He had it.

“Mindy,” he said, raising the gun closer to his mouth. “Brown noise.”

The gun’s chamber spun. Three lights illuminated in blue and a smirk tugged at the ravaged corners of Dan’s mouth.

“Check this out,” he said, taking aim at the closest soldier.

There was a sound like thunder that almost collapsed everyone’s eardrums. Loren flew several feet backward, making her miss the moment when the entire platoon of armored soldiers became a fast-moving cloud of boiling innards, bone fragments, and fire.

She lifted her head in time to see a few lumpier parts come splattering down on the scorched floor. By the time she’d gotten to her feet, all that was left of the platoon was a fine pink mist drifting lightly downward.

“Feck me,” said Artur, echoing pretty much what everyone else was thinking. He looked up at Dan. “And here was you just going to make them shoite themselves. Bet you feel pretty stupid now, don’t ye?”

Deadman lowered his gun, then shot Loren’s assault cannon an admiring glance. “I have got to get me one of those.”

“It seems to be pretty dangerous,” Ollie pointed out.

“Hence why I want one,” said Dan. He had another prod at the hole in his chest, then pulled his coat across to cover it.

“Twenty more coming up on the right,” Narp said. Loren raised the assault cannon again, but Miz placed a hand on the barrel and nudged it toward the floor.

“Uh-uh,” she snarled, baring her teeth. “These guys are totally mine!”

* * *

Cal sat in the back seat of a patrol car, his hands cuffed behind him, his skull throbbing from the pistol-whipping he’d taken to the back of the head while trying—quite politely, he thought—to resist arrest.

The cop, a balding man who clearly enjoyed a hearty breakfast every day, and possibly more than once, stood with young Cal, waiting for backup to arrive. Cal couldn’t hear what the cop was saying, but he remembered snatches of the words as he saw them emerge from the officer’s mouth.

Very lucky.

Safe now.

Get you home.

He remembered the relief at having been rescued, but it was mixed with confusion, too. Doubt. Standing there, listening to the cop talking, he had still believed that guy sitting in the back of the patrol car. Or had wanted to believe, at least.

“Kevin, we have a problem,” Cal said.

Would it involve you being arrested as a suspected pedophile, sir? It’s all over local law enforcement radio.

“Is that what they’re saying about me?” Cal gasped. “Jesus.”

To be fair, sir, you did chase a six-year-old down, drag him kicking and screaming into an abandoned building and then offer to show him your spaceship.

Cal hesitated. “OK, when you say it like that, it does sound kind of bad,” he admitted. He yanked on his cuffs, but they held exactly as tightly as they’d done the previous fifty times he’d tried. “But… I remember this,” he said. “And I still believed me.”

You always have been rather gullible, sir.

Cal gazed out of the window and met the eye of his younger self. He smiled, just faintly, and nodded.

“That’s actually me,” Cal said, as if only just believing it for the first time. “That’s really me.”

More like you’re one possible version of him, sir. Or he has the potential to become you.

“Same thing.”

Not exactly, but—

“More or less the same thing. Gotcha,” said Cal, cutting him off.

He tried the cuffs again. Nothing. If only he’d…

Wait.

The cogs in Cal’s brain creaked into life.

“I remember what he’s seeing. Which means I know what he knows. Which means…” He shook his head. “No. Or… yes? Would that… Is that crazy?”

Your random mutterings, sir? They do sound a trifle deranged, yes.

“No. Wait. Listen. He’s me. I’m him. I know what he knows.”

I rather felt we’d covered this a while back.

“Cal!” Cal yelled, bringing his face closer to the glass. Judging by the reactions from the kid and the cop, they’d both heard him. “You need to learn escapology! OK? Escapology. With locks and chains and stuff!”

The cop gestured for young Cal to stay put, then rested one hand on the butt of his holstered gun and began striding in the direction of the car.

“It’s important!” Cal hollered. “Padlocks. Chains. Handcuffs. Especially handcuffs! Our life depends on it. Mom. Dad. All our lives depend on it!”

The door was torn open. The cop glared down at him, full of contempt but trying very hard to remain professional.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your mouth shut and to stop addressing the victim.”

Cal grinned. He laughed, in fact, as much with surprise as any genuine amusement.

“Holy shizz. What do you know?” he said. He raised both hands and tossed the cop the cuffs. “It actually worked.”

An uppercut found the cop’s bottom jaw while he was still struggling to catch the handcuffs. The force of it snapped his head back and he was out cold long before he hit the ground.

“You punched him!” young Cal gasped. “You punched a policeman. In the face!”

“You’re right. I did. But for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone,” Cal said. He fished in the cop’s pockets until he found his car keys. “Now come on, get in. We need to go get Mom and Dad.”

The six-year-old hesitated. “What about my bike?”

“Forget your…”

Cal remembered how much he loved that damn bike.

“Fine. Get it. I’ll pop the trunk.”

He searched for the button on the car keys that would do just that, then remembered that it probably wouldn’t exist for another decade or so.

The trunk lock clunked as he turned the key in the lock. As the lid rose, his eyes fell on a pump-action shotgun lying in there. “Now you’re talking,” he muttered, taking the gun out just as his younger self wheeled his BMX over.

“Here, hold this,” he said, passing himself the gun. Young Cal hesitated, but then greedily took the shotgun and turned it over in his hands.

“This is so cool,” he whispered, while Cal struggled to wedge the bike into a trunk that had seemed quite generously sized just a moment ago, but now felt pointlessly small.

“You think that’s cool? Then… Get in, you fonking thing… just wait until you get the flamethrower.”

He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Roughly half the bike was sticking out of the trunk, but short of taking the wheels off there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Fonk it, that’ll do,” Cal sighed.

“You swear a lot,” his six-year-old self pointed out.

“What? Well, yeah, but it’s censored, so… Oh. Shizz. I mean fonk. I mean… you don’t have a chip.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll find out,” Cal said.

He held his hand out for the shotgun. His younger self lingered with it for a moment, before reluctantly handing it over.

“Thanks, kid. Now get in the car,” Cal instructed, and the next few words fluttered like butterflies in his stomach before stumbling out of his mouth. “I’m taking us home.”

* * *

Ollie stared at Mizette with a mixture of horror and… Actually, no. Pretty much just horror.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got a face on you,” she said, pointing to her own shoulder.

Miz glanced down. The loose facial skin of one of the soldiers clung to her fur, making it look like her shoulder was wearing a mask. The face, unsurprisingly, wore quite a shocked expression.

“Oh. Thanks,” said Miz, flicking it away.

Ollie shuddered as the face hit the corridor wall with a splat, then slid slowly to the floor.

“No problem,” she squeaked.

“I’m gonna marry that girl,” said Artur, his eyes practically forming the shape of love-hearts as he gazed adoringly at the gore-covered Mizette.

“Uh, no. You’re not,” Miz corrected.

Artur grinned from inside Deadman’s pocket. “Ah, sure. That’s what they all say.”

Mech stomped past them toward a circular door that marked the corridor’s end. “This is it,” he announced. “This is Krone’s control room.”

“Is he in there?” Deadman asked.

Mech tapped his scanners, then shrugged. “I can’t tell. Narp?”

“I got nothing,” Narp said. “There’s no camera or audio feed to access, and it’s too heavily shielded to run a scan.”

Miz leaned in closer to the door and swiveled her ears toward it. “I think it’s, like, soundproof. I can’t hear anything.”

Loren slapped a hand against the door. The dull, muted smack suggested it was thick and heavy, and wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Narp, can you open this?” she asked.

There was a moment of silence while Narp worked.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s a manual locking mechanism. There’s nothing for me to access.”

“Everyone stand back,” Mech ordered. He cracked his metal knuckles. “I got this.”

With a roar, he drew back an arm, then powered a punch against the door. His fist crumpled, the first two knuckles folding back into the hand.

“Fonk. OK, no. That ain’t happening,” he said, giving his hand a shake, then jamming it under the opposite armpit.

Artur cricked his neck. “Give me a go at the bastard,” he said, but everyone ignored him.

“I’ll try,” said Ollie. She stepped forward as Deadman motioned for everyone else to fall back.

Sparks of electricity crackled between the tips of her fingers as she flexed them in and out. She danced loosely on the spot, inhaling and exhaling, pulling herself together.

“I can do this,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ve got this.”

With a grunt, she thrust both hands out in front of her. The door groaned as the air between her and it rippled violently.

“It’s working, I think,” said Loren. “Keep it up.”

Ollie chewed on her tongue as she focused harder on the door. The energy sizzled and crackled across her skin, illuminating the walls of the corridor around her.

“It’s moving!” she gasped, as the gap between her and the door widened. “It’s moving!”

She thudded into Dan. “No. You were,” he told her. “The door didn’t budge. Whatever you were firing at it just bounced back and pushed you away.”

“As I was saying’…” Artur began, but Loren chose that moment to swing the Cobra Assault Cannon off her shoulder, almost throwing herself off balance in the process.

“I got it,” she said. “This’ll punch a hole through the fonking thing.”

“Everyone back!” Mech warned. He waited until the others had retreated, then stood behind Loren. “Ready?”

Loren braced herself against his immovable frame. “Ready,” she confirmed. She squeezed off two rounds, one after the other. For a split-second, the corridor was filled with a high-pitched whistling sound, then both rounds detonated, filling the place with fire and smoke and noise.

Several seconds later, when the smoke had cleared enough for them to see, the door still stood intact. The surface had been lightly toasted, leaving a faint brown haze on the metal, but other than that, it was completely unharmed.

“Fonk,” Mech spat. “What is that thing made of?”

“What?” asked Loren, shouting to make herself heard above the ringing in her ears. She pointed to the door. “We didn’t make a hole!”

“We don’t need to make a feckin’ hole!” Artur barked. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ye!”

“What did he say?” Loren yelled.

“What you talking about?” asked Mech.

“It’s already got a hole, is me point,” said Artur. “Look. A keyhole. It’s a manual lock, yer fella said. Well, I’m a man, and that’s a lock, so let me at the bastard.”

Ollie frowned. “Wait, Artur’s a man?”

Dan matched her frown with one of his own. “Yes. What did you…? In fact, we’ll revisit this later.”

He plucked Artur from his coat pocket then approached the door. Heat radiated from the corridor walls as they drew closer, but the door itself was cool to the touch.

The keyhole was covered by a metal disc a little larger than an Earth CD, which was attached to the door by a single fastening. Pushing the disc aside exposed a hole just large enough for Artur to crawl into.

“You going to be OK in there?” Dan asked Artur’s back end as the little man shimmied himself into the inner working of the door.

Artur snorted. “Does yer granny shoite in her handbag?”

Dan briefly considered this. “No.”

“Oh. Just mine, then,” said Artur. “Don’t worry about me, just remember what a feckin’ legend I am once I save the day, alright?”

“Deal.”

“I mean it. I want a badge and everything,” Artur continued, his voice becoming fainter as he crawled deeper into the door. “And once all this is over, I want to take that big hairy goddess into a cozy little room and—”

His voice became fully muted as Dan let the disc swing closed over the lock. Ironically, the only person who heard the rest of the sentence was Miz. Her fur meant no one was able to see her blush, although Loren couldn’t help but notice how Mizette’s tail wagged excitedly from side to side.

Time to get her back on track.

“You going to be OK in there?” Loren asked.

Miz’s tail stopped moving. Her face contorted into a scowl. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you know. Krone. He killed you.”

“He was trying to kill you,” Miz pointed out.

“No. I know. I just mean… I just thought… Nobody will hold it against you if you want to sit this out. Everyone will understand.”

“Bedge, please,” Miz snorted. She clacked her jaws together and flexed her long muscular limbs. “I am totally going to bite that shizznod’s head off.”

Only Loren was watching her, and so only she saw the fleeting moment of panic on Miz’s face as something inside the door went clunk.

“Got ye, ye bastard!” announced Artur as Dan slid the disc aside again, then the door creaked outward, exposing the chamber beyond.

“Stay close and follow my lead,” Mech instructed. “This ends now.”

Twenty-Six

Cal brought the cop car screeching to a stop just outside the garden of his parents’ house. Unfortunately, momentum wasn’t on his side, and there was a loud crack as the front of the car plowed into the fence, knocking it over.

“Dad’s going to go crazy!” fretted his younger self.

Cal didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared through the windshield at the house where he’d grown up. The last time he’d seen the place, Mech had practically destroyed it, and both his parents had been dead in the downstairs bedroom. But that was a long time ago. Or a long time ahead. One of those.

Whatever, the house was now fully intact (the fence, not so much) and his parents were almost certainly both in there. Alive.

He puffed out his cheeks, then started to open the door before pausing with it held halfway. “You should probably let me do the talking,” he said. “I’m not sure they’ll buy the whole future you from space thing.”

“What will we tell them?”

“We’ll tell them that I’m a cop.”

The younger version looked the older one up and down. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“No, but I’ve got a cop car,” Cal pointed out. “And, you know, a commanding presence.”

Young Cal looked skeptical.

“Also, they’re both terrified of authority, it’ll be fine. Come on.”

Grabbing the shotgun, he jumped out of the car. A wave of something—nostalgia, he thought—hit him as he stood there in the front yard, but there was no time to drink it in. If things didn’t go to plan up in space, then Krone could be here within the hour. He had to get his parents out of here, and fast.

Cal was almost at the door when he realized the shotgun might not be the best idea. He looked around for somewhere to stash it, then rested it against the porch.

He stopped at the door, unsure whether to knock or just walk in. Fortunately, his younger self faced no such dilemma.

“Mom? Dad?” the younger Cal called, throwing open the door and darting inside.

“Cal? Honey?”

They both appeared from in the kitchen, and the sight of them hit Cal like a sucker-punch to the groin. He felt his lungs go tight as his six-year-old self ran to them, and the memory of this moment popped into his head. Love. Safety.

Home.

“Who the Hell are you?” demanded his dad, shielding young Cal with a protective arm.

Cal fumbled blindly for the right words to say, but a gasp from his mom stopped him mid-search. She stared at him, wide-eyed, one hand slapped over her mouth. She looked so young. Her hair was darker, her skin much smoother. He hadn’t remembered her like this. Not until now.

She approached him slowly. The hand that was over her mouth stayed there, but the other reached out, fingers twitching, as if somehow reading the molecules in the air between them.

Cal’s mom stopped just within arm’s reach. Cal wanted to hug her, to pull her to him—pull himself to her—but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked him over. The hand at her mouth was trembling now as she fought a losing battle with her composure.

The word, when it finally made it way out of her, was a strangled croak that seemed to get stuck somewhere deep in her chest before bursting free.

“Cal?”

A tear broke through Cal’s defenses and rolled down his cheek. He smiled. One of his good ones.

“Hey, mom,” he whispered.

She searched his face, tears streaming now, both hands shaking as they reached tentatively across the gap toward him.

“How can…? I don’t…”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Sir.

“Not now, Kevin,” Cal whispered.

Sir, we have a problem.

Cal felt something inside him knot up in fear. “What kind of a problem?” he asked.

Through the open kitchen doorway there came the sound of heavy footsteps.

* * *

Mech’s feet clanked on the floor to the control center as he and the others fanned out around the solitary figure standing in the middle of the room. Krone hadn’t even had the good grace to look surprised to see them. Of course, the series of explosions and all the blaster fire that had preceded them on the way here had probably given him some warning, but he could’ve at least looked disappointed to see them.

Instead, he looked mostly indifferent. He stood there, smiling vaguely, his hands tucked behind his back as he peered at them over the top of his thick-lensed glasses.

Loren stuck close to Miz, much like Deadman was doing with Ollie, she noticed, despite the fact that Ollie was almost certainly the most powerful member of the group.

“It’s over, shizznod,” Mech barked. “You’re going down.”

Krone didn’t react, let alone respond. He kept gazing ahead, rocking lightly on his heels, that almost-smile fixed on his lips.

“Any last words?” Mech asked.

Apparently, he didn’t.

Mech gave a noisy shrug. “Smoke this motherfonker!” he said, bringing up both arms. Loren raised her assault cannon, while Ollie thrust out her hands.

“Wait!” said Miz.

She took a few faltering steps forward. Loren wrestled the gun into one hand and grabbed for Mizette’s arm, but Miz yanked free of her grip and padded unsteadily in Krone’s direction, her claws extending.

“Miz, get the fonk out of the way!” Mech warned. “What are you doing?”

She stopped just beyond his reach, but well within her own. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air around him, and the hair on the back of her neck bunched into a knot.

“Uh, guys,” she said. She swiped at Krone, and the projection rippled as her hand passed straight through it. “We’ve got a problem.”

Narp’s voice barked from the speaker in Mech’s arm. “Get out. Get out of there now!”

From above the group, there came a low rumbling sound.

“Aw, fonk,” Mech groaned, as a hatch in the ceiling fell open, and a heaving mass of shapes came tumbling in on top of them.

* * *

Icy cold fingers of dread tightened around Cal’s throat as three black-visored figures clomped into the hallway from the kitchen.

“They arrived an hour ago,” Cal’s mom whimpered. “We didn’t know what to do.”

“Everyone get behind me. Dad, Cal, move!”

Cal’s dad pulled young Cal by the arm and joined his wife, who was already taking cover behind the older version of her son.

“What does he mean, ‘Dad’?”

“Just look at him!” Cal’s mom urged. “It’s our boy.”

“What are you talking about you…”

Cal felt his dad’s eyes on him, then almost heard the penny drop.

“Oh. Oh my God.”

The three figures spread out until they filled the hallway. They had blaster pistols in holsters on the front of their chest armor, but so far hadn’t made any move to draw them.

“Who are they?” his mom whispered.

“Just some generic space goons,” Cal said. “Nothing to worry about.”

A right cross spun him across the hall, sending him stumbling into the telephone table. Grabbing the phone, Cal turned and tried to smash it across his attacker’s head, but the cable connecting it to the wall went taut and the whole thing jerked out of his hand.

“Ah… fonk,” he grimaced, as the space goon snapped his head forward, and pain exploded across Cal’s nose.

He didn’t remember hitting the floor, but hit it he did. He lay there for a moment, blinking away the tears and coughing on the blood.

When he could finally see, he spotted his parents and young Cal gazing down at him. Their eyes were desperate. Pleading. He was their only hope, and they knew it.

“Cal,” he said. “When this is all over, I want you to learn martial arts, OK?”

Cal blinked. “Which one?”

“All of them,” said Cal – quickly, as the first space goon was looming over him. “And I mean, totally dedicate yourself to them. Don’t quit like we usually do. It’s important.”

“What about the escapology?”

“Forget the escapology. Learn to fight, OK? Learn to…”

Cal felt his brain rearrange itself. It was not a particularly pleasant feeling. He imagined it was similar to how it would feel if a large centipede found its way in through his ear canal and went slithering around in there, leaving footprints all over the place.

His body changed, too. Some parts tightened. Others stretched. He became aware of the location of his hands and feet in a way he never had been before.

Bringing his legs up, Cal flipped himself into a standing position.

“Well, that was awesome,” he observed, then he kicked out the space-goons knee, delivered a brutal three-finger strike to a tiny exposed area of his throat, and finished him off with a roundhouse kick to the head.

It took him three good punches and flying knee to take out the second goon. The third, who had helpfully waited his turn, grabbed for his gun, but Cal kicked his wrist, smashing it against the kitchen doorframe.

Keeping his leg raised, he kicked the goon several times in the face, cracking the visor of his helmet, then delivered a crunching side-kick to his midsection that sent him staggering into the kitchen.

There was a thud, then a deafening crash. Cal leaned over and looked into the kitchen to find the goon’s legs poking out from under the toppled refrigerator.

Cal turned to his parents and his younger self, brushing his hands together as if wiping off dust. “And that takes care of those guys,” he grinned.

Young Cal stared at him in awe. The memory of the moment came back to Cal, and he saw himself through his childhood eyes. A superhero. Hell, a god.

Cal winked at the six-year-old. “Meh. We do this kind of stuff all the time.”

It was then that he noted the expressions on his parents’ faces. There was no awe there, just fear and worry and… why were they looking behind him?

“Well, well,” came a voice from the living room doorway. “Two for the price of one. It’s my lucky day.”

Cal turned slowly, making no sudden movements. Geronimus Krone stood before him, a glass of milk in one hand, a cookie in another.

Look out, sir, it’s Krone! Kevin warned.

“Yeah.” Cal sighed. “Really appreciate the heads-up there, pal.”

Twenty-Seven

Krone stepped aside and motioned toward the living room with his cookie. “Please. Please. This way.”

Cal looked back at himself and his parents, his brain racing to come up with some sort of escape plan. Running like fonk was the most obvious one, but there was no way his mom or dad would get clear, and while they’d had their differences over the years, sacrificing them to a space tyrant felt like a step too far.

“I wasn’t asking,” Krone pointed out.

“We’d better do as he says,” Cal’s mom reasoned.

“I don’t… Wait. You can understand him?”

She nodded in reply. “Yes. Funny accent, but…”

“I learned the language,” said Krone. “So I could explain to you why I was doing what I was doing. So you would understand.”

“That’s… considerate, I guess,” said Cal.

He puffed out his cheeks. There was nothing else to be done. He beckoned for the others to follow him as he sidled past Krone and into his old living room. The first thing that struck him was the wallpaper. Yikes. That was a lot of orange and brown.

Cal noticed the next four things all at the same time. They were all either standing around or sitting on the fake leather couches. At least two of them were eating cookies.

He recognized one of the standing ones from back when Krone had killed Miz and the Time Prison had been opened. He, she—possibly it—wore armor comprised almost entirely of metal spikes. Horns grew from what was either an intricately crafted helmet with a movable jaw, or a metal skull.

War.

The next figure sat on the couch, leaning forward to be closer to the coffee table. It was thin, withered, and dressed entirely in rags. Its mouth was a swirling black hole in its concave face, where it was accompanied by two sunken eyes and a nose that was barely worth mentioning. As Cal watched, it stole two more cookies from the plate and tossed them into its horrifying maw.

Famine.

The third figure leaned against the wall beside the window, warming itself on the radiator. This one was a mummified mess of filthy bandages that could easily have been mistaken for used toilet paper. Through the gaps, Cal caught glimpses of sandpaper skin marked by green rashes and oozing pus. Two bloodshot eyes stared out through the dirty wraps, occasionally gazing upward at the cloud of flies hovering around its head.

Pestilence.

The fourth and final figure wore a robe of midnight black. It sat in his dad’s armchair, its legs stretched out so its filthy boots rested on the coffee table. The robe’s hood was up, hiding whatever lurked inside it, but Cal could see one of its hands, which was currently holding a cup of coffee. It was rotten and zombie-like. Not dissimilar to Dan Deadman, but with more emphasis on the ‘dead’ part. A couple of the fingers were just bone, held together by grisly tendons of rotten flesh.

Death.

“The Four Space Horsemen of the Spacepocalypse,” Cal said, talking to try to disguise his rising panic. “In our living room. There’s something you don’t see every day.”

He pointed to Death. “You’re going to want to switch seats, pal. That’s my dad’s chair, and he doesn’t like anyone else sitting in it.”

“What?” Cal’s dad spluttered. “N-no. It’s fine.”

Cal turned to him. “Oh, so when some evil space monster does it, it’s fine. But when I try to sit in it…”

“Silence,” said Krone, stepping into the room behind Cal’s parents and closing the door. There wasn’t a flicker of amusement on his face, but his voice had a strange sing-song quality that suggested he was always in the process of remembering the funniest joke he’d ever heard, and trying not to laugh.

Krone took a bite of his cookie, and they all watched on in silence as he crunched his way through it.

I’ve been working on an escape plan, sir, Kevin said.

Cal cleared his throat to disguise his reply. “And?”

It took rather a lot of work – there are a staggering number of variables to take into account.

Cal cleared his throat again. “And?”

Well, long story short, sir, I couldn’t think of one. Basically, you’re screwed.

Cal tutted. “Great.”

Krone wrinkled his nose and tilted his head from side to side. “Not bad,” he said, holding up the remaining piece of cookie. “A little dry.”

“There’s some banoffee pie in the fridge,” said Cal’s mom, who always liked to be helpful. Even, it seemed, when being held hostage by space tyrants.

“Yeah, they’re not here for pie, Mom,” Cal told her.

“I’ll have some,” said Famine in a voice like a partially blocked drain. “If it’s going.”

“It’s not going,” said Cal. “The only thing going is you guys.”

He threw a kick behind him, driving his foot straight for Krone’s stomach. Krone stepped cleanly aside without so much as spilling a drop of his milk, and Cal’s foot went through the door, getting stuck in the broken wood.

Krone brought an elbow down, shattering Cal’s knee. The tyrant polished off the rest of his cookie while Cal rolled around on the floor, cursing and groaning.

His mom moved to help him, but Krone caught her by the hair, stopping her.

“Leave my mom alone!” young Cal cried, pulling himself free of his dad’s grip and flying at Krone.

A metal spike whistled past his face and embedded itself in the wall just inches from the six-year-old’s head. He froze, his eyes following the route the spike had taken until he saw War glaring at him through the empty slots of his skull.

“I wouldn’t,” War intoned, his voice reverberating in a way that made the stomach of all the humans present rumble unpleasantly.

They’re rather scary, aren’t they, sir? Kevin said in Cal’s head. Why, those four are probably a match for even Krone himself. I really don’t fancy your chances now.

“Thanks,” Cal groaned.

Not that I fancied them a moment ago, either.

“Got it,” Cal wheezed. His knee had mostly put itself back together now. He flexed it a couple of times to test, then clambered back to his feet.

“Who are you talking to?” Krone wondered.

“The voices in my head,” Cal replied. “Now, you heard the kid, let her go.”

Krone frowned, then regarded Cal’s mom with surprise, as if just now noticing her for the first time. She sobbed as he released his grip on her hair and shoved her over to her husband.

Cal did his best to shield them all. Krone, meanwhile, drained the rest of his milk, then set the glass on top of the family’s wooden TV that had already been ancient even in the eighties.

“You should really use a coaster for that,” Cal told him.

Krone twitched a finger and the glass exploded, making the whole Carver family, older Cal included, jump in fright.

“Or, you know, just blow it up with your mind,” Cal said. “Either’s fine.”

“I have some questions,” said Krone.

Cal bit his lip. “Are they General Knowledge? Can I choose a category?”

Krone nodded to Pestilence, and Cal heard his dad gasp. He turned to see his father clutching at his chest, his face turning a nasty shade of red as he staggered into the bookcase, gasping for breath.

“OK! OK! Stop!” Cal cried.

Krone held his gaze for a moment, then made a motion in Pestilence’s direction. Almost immediately, Cal’s dad sagged with relief as the pain left him.

“You OK?” Cal asked.

A wheeze. A nod. An apologetic look.

“Not your fault,” Cal told him. “None of this is your fault.”

“Agreed,” said Krone. “It’s yours. The only reason I’m even aware of their existence is because of you. Because of what you did.” He smirked. “How’s your dog?”

“What?” said young Cal, excited despite the seriousness of the situation. “We get a dog?”

“She’s better, actually,” Cal told Krone. “She’s fine. Angry, obviously. Mostly at you. Or… exclusively at you. Which, I’ll be honest, isn’t something I’d want hanging over me. So, you know, good luck with that.”

Krone shrugged. “I killed her once. I’m confident I can do it again.”

“Maybe,” Cal admitted. “So, was that your question? You just wanted to enquire after Miz’s welfare? That is surprisingly considerate of you, Geronimo.”

“Geronimus.”

“Meh. My way sounds better,” Cal decided.

Krone leaned closer, and Cal’s skin prickled like it was trying to get away. “Do you want me to kill your family?” he whispered.

Cal shook his head. “No,” he whispered back, then he motioned to the Space Horsemen with his eyes. “Do you want me to kill yours?”

Krone said nothing for a moment, then smacked his lips together and wagged a finger. “I like you, Carver. You are amusing. In an irritating, juvenile sort of way.”

Cal looked back over his shoulder at his younger self. “Totally use that as our high school yearbook quote. Promise me.”

Krone ran his tongue across his teeth, cleaning away the cookie crumbs. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“This is my house,” Cal said.

“No, it’s his house,” said Krone, indicating the younger Cal. “I know the temporal anomaly you caused didn’t swallow you, so how are you here now?”

“OK, first here’s a counter-question for you,” Cal said, squaring up to the shorter man. “What’s a temporal anomaly?”

Krone made an irritated clicking noise with his mouth. “The hole in time you created when you shot the time bomb.”

“Right! That thing. Can we just call it a time hole? Is that cool with everyone?”

Krone and the Space Horsemen all glowered at him. Except for Famine, who was licking the crumbs off the cookie plate and not really paying too much attention to anything else.

“So, it’s kind of a long story,” said Cal.

“Make it shorter,” Krone urged.

Cal considered this. “I mean, I guess I could leave out the stuff about Five Guys…”

Krone nodded to Pestilence.

“Wait! OK!” Cal yelped. “OK, I’ll explain.”

Pestilence waited for Krone’s decision, then lowered his hands when the stand-down signal eventually came.

“After you were all sucked into the time hole, we took Miz back to the Greyx. Except they didn’t know who she was. We eventually figured out that you’d escaped the time hole at some point, and in the years since then, you’d taken over the galaxy.”

Krone looked quietly pleased about that.

“At first, we thought you’d come out hundreds of years ago because the Greyx guy we spoke to said you’d been King of Space for generations. Except, the Greyx, they have kids when they’re, like, seven or eight, so their generations fly by pretty fast.”

“Is this seriously the short version?” demanded War.

Cal made a fast forward motion with his fingers. “So, anyway, we tried to stop you in the future, but it turns out you were dying, and rather than just hand control over to… these shizznods, you killed them all, then destroyed the whole Universe.”

All four Space Horsemen looked at Krone. Even Pestilence paused, mid-lick of the plate.

“I know. Sucks, right?” said Cal. “And you’d think that’d be the end of it, only we—by which I mean a plucky band of heroes assembled from all across the galaxy. But mostly me—we found a way to come back to a time and place where we knew you’d be, so we could stop you in the past and change the… what? Present? Future? I don’t know. This time travel stuff is confusing.”

“You came back to stop me?” Krone asked. “How is that working out for you?”

Cal made a weighing motion with his hands. “Well, you’ve caught me, so that’s not good. But by now most of your thousand thousand ships will have been destroyed, so…”

Young Cal gasped. “He has a million spaceships?”

“How the fonk did…? Doesn’t matter,” Cal said. “And no. He had a million spaceships. Now he has… Kevin?”

Three-hundred-and-twenty-seven thousand, eight-hundred-and-six, sir.

“Less ships,” said Cal.

Fewer, sir.

“What do you mean…” wheezed Death, his voice an icy whisper that lowered the temperature of the room a full three degrees. “…he killed us all?”

Cal puffed out his cheeks. “I mean… So, which part aren’t you grasping, exactly?” He pointed to Krone. “He…”

He pointed to the Space Horsemen.

“Killed you all. And then he turned you into lamps.”

“Lamps?” intoned War.

“Or, like, projectors. I don’t know. He took off your heads and put, I don’t know, bulbs in. You’d have to ask him.”

“Preposterous,” Krone said. “But nice try. Your attempts to sow division are quite pointless, but I commend you for it.”

Sir, the television, said Kevin.

“What about it?”

Krone frowned. “What about what?”

Switch it on, sir. Now. I’m sending a broadcast.

Cal held up his hands. “Look. I know what’s going to happen. I know why you’re here. Your plan is to kill everyone, inject young me with some immortality space mojo, then leave him-slash-me alone here forever.”

Krone raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Now, I like that.”

Cal winced. “Shizz. Wasn’t that already your plan?”

Krone shook his head. “I was just going to murder you, but I like your idea much better.”

“Fonk. Oh well. Whatever. First, there’s something I want to show you. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

He gestured to the TV. “May I?”

Krone considered the request for quite a long time, then stepped aside. “Make it quick.”

“I’ll try,” said Cal, pushing in the power button with a clunk. “It takes a minute to warm up.”

He pushed the broken glass aside so he could lean one hand on the top of the set. He whistled quietly while they waited for the image on the screen to become bright enough to view.

His mom and dad stood close together, young Cal sandwiched between them. All the memories of these past few minutes had been exploding in Cal’s head throughout this whole time, bright and vivid and etched with terror. Krone was bigger in the memories than in real life, but other than that they were pretty much spot on.

“Won’t be long now,” said Cal, as tinny disco music came popping and crackling from the set’s underpowered speakers.

An image appeared on the screen. It showed a blond-haired woman in a leotard and leggings hopping from foot to foot on an exercise mat, while waving both hands above her head.

“This is what you wanted to show us?” said Krone.

“Uh… I don’t know. Kevin?”

Sorry, sir. Wrong channel. One moment.

The image flickered. The dancing woman was replaced by a fuzzy view of a skull-shaped space station. There were a couple of overlays on the right side of the picture, and Cal recognized it as the viewscreen of the Currently Untitled.

“Nice design,” said Krone.

Another voice—Krone’s own—emerged from the TV speaker. “As I told your friend there back on my ship, I’m dying. Left to my own devices, I would have a few months, perhaps. Most of it spent growing weaker. Less able.”

Krone frowned. “What is this?” he asked.

“Just wait,” said Cal. He looked over to the Space Horsemen. “Listen.”

Krone’s voice continued to come out of the TV. “So why not go out in style? Why not take this whole filthy diseased Universe with me? Hard reset. Back to square one.”

“And what do your generals have to say about that? Or haven’t you told them?”

“Hey, that’s Mech!” said Cal. “Mech’s on TV!”

“They’re dead,” the television version of Krone continued. “Had to be done. They were starting to ask questions. Getting too big for their boots.”

The two Horsemen who had been sitting down stood up.

“I felt it only right for them to be involved, though, so…”

The TV Krone made a little fanfare noise. On the screen, the skull-shaped station disappeared, revealing the lifeless body of a figure in spiky armor. Where its head should have been was a bright light. The picture was blurry on the old set, but no one needed to wait for Krone’s explanation to know who it was.

“They called that one ‘War,’” the voice continued. “Well, among other names. He was fiercely loyal to the cause. Truly fearsome in battle. Slaughtered millions.”

The Krone on TV chuckled. The one in the real world looked anything but amused. “Good times. It seemed only right to give him and the others some role to play. So… ta-daa! I beheaded them one by one and then turned them into fancy lamps. I like to think they’d be—”

The TV exploded with a wave of Krone’s hand. “Pathetic,” he spat. “Did you really expect us to be fooled by that?”

“Hey. Don’t shoot the messenger,” said Cal. “I’m just telling you what went down. Or will go down. Or will… went down? No. That can’t be it.”

Krone motioned to Pestilence. “Kill the parents. We’ll make them both watch.”

Cal’s mom and dad pulled each other closer together.

“No, no, no!” his mom sobbed, burying her face in his dad’s shoulder.

Pestilence didn’t move.

Nobody moved, in fact.

Krone could’ve killed them himself, obviously. If he could kill a battle-crazed Mizette and punch shizz out of Mech, taking care of a middle-aged couple from Philadelphia was unlikely to cause him any problems.

But he’d given an order, and he wanted it followed.

“You heard me,” Krone said. “Kill them both. Now.”

War and Death stepped in closer on either side of Pestilence. Famine gave the cookie plate one final lick, before tossing it onto the couch and joining the others.

Krone turned to them, and Cal felt the anger emanating from him in waves. “Do I have to remind you who is in charge here?”

“Lamps,” said War. “Fonking lamps.”

Krone tutted quietly, then began the process of rolling up his sleeves. “It appears that I do,” he said. “How disappointing.”

Grabbing his parents, Cal bundled both them and his younger self out into the hallway.

“Don’t go far,” Krone called after them in that sing-song almost laugh.

“Go, go, get outside,” Cal urged, shoving the other out through the door. “I’ve got a spaceship. We can get away.”

“But… but… the house,” said his mom. “All our things.”

“Forget the house,” said Cal’s dad. “You heard what he said. We have to… Wait. Spaceship?”

They stumbled down the porch steps and into the front yard. The police car was still there, its lights flashing.

“My fence!” Cal’s dad yelped.

“Forget the fence!” said his mom.

The memory of what he was about to see popped into Cal’s head before he actually saw it, thanks to his younger self seeing it first.

He saw a line of black-clad space goons standing out in the street, their faces hidden by their visors, their guns trained on the front of the house.

“Aw,” Cal groaned. “Fonk!”

Twenty-Eight

“Get behind me!” Cal urged, stepping between his younger self and the space goons.

He remembered the shotgun propped up against the porch, and wondered if he could somehow get it, then get close enough to the goons to use it. There were a good thirty or more of the soldiers, so that would mean getting more shells from the trunk of the car, reloading at least twice and…

No. Probably not.

The living room window exploded beside them, and part of Pestilence landed on the grass. It wasn’t a big part, but it looked important enough that Cal suspected the Four Space Horsemen of the Spacepocalypse had just become the Three.

“Kevin, get over here,” Cal urge.

On my way. All guns blazing, sir?

“Some guns blazing,” said Cal. “But lightly. Don’t kill us, is what I’m saying.”

I shall do my best, sir.

From somewhere in the middle distance came the sound of engines igniting, but Cal knew, in that instant, it was too late. One of the space goons—a particularly heavy-set example standing in front of the others—tapped one ear, nodded briefly, then shifted his aim to Cal’s mom.

Cal shoved her behind him, blocking the gunman’s shot. “Leave them alone!” he bellowed, but the space goon’s finger tightened on his trigger, and Cal saw a ball of fire ignite inside the blaster’s barrel.

And then, to everyone’s surprise, the soldier’s arm fell off as the blade of a flying battle ax sliced cleanly through it.

The cut was so sudden, and so neat, that the goon didn’t appear to notice what had happened at first. What was left of his arm twitched a couple of times, like he was still trying to pull the trigger, and then it occurred to him not only that he didn’t have his gun, but precisely why.

He screamed.

And then he screamed even louder when a seven-foot-tall wolf woman landed on his back and began to eat him.

“What the fonk?” Cal’s dad cried. This amused Cal immensely.

“You said ‘fonk,’” he pointed out, then they all ducked for cover as a frantic but largely one-sided shootout erupted in the street. Krone’s men were highly-trained and heavily armed, but they didn’t have a cyborg, a demon-woman, and whatever the fonk Alan was on their side.

“Now, who are all these people?” asked Cal’s mom as Cal ushered them all into cover behind the police car.

“Mom, Dad, me… these are my friends,” Cal said. “And alternate reality versions of me. And a woman I briefly worked for.”

He raised his head enough to scan the street. “And my future daughter from a parallel world.”

“You have a daughter?” his mom gasped.

“You get a job?!” said his dad.

“Funny. Good one,” Cal said. “And… it’s a long story. I’m not supposed to tell you, in case it messes up time. You know how that is, right?”

“Not really,” his mom admitted.

“Like in Back to the Future?” asked younger Cal.

Cal shrugged. “More like Part Two.”

“There’s a Back to the Future Part Two?!”

“And three,” said Cal, as the burning corpse of a space goon sailed over the top of the car and landed in the garden. “It has cowboys in it.”

Cal’s six-year-old self’s eyes went wide. “Great Scott!”

The shooting stopped.

A moment later, the sound of tearing flesh and chewing stopped, too.

Cal motioned for everyone else to wait, then slowly stood up. Several guns were raised in his direction, and he quickly thrust his hands into the air. “Wait, it’s me! Don’t shoot!”

Loren lowered her assault cannon. “You are such an idiot!” she barked.

“Well, it’s good to see you too, Loren,” Cal said. He motioned for his parents to stand up, too. “Loren, this is my mom and dad. And me, aged six. Cute, right? Me, I mean. Not them. No offense, Mom and Dad.”

“What the fonk did you think you were doing?” Loren demanded.

“Is that a werewolf?” young Cal gasped.

“Space werewolf,” Cal corrected. “She’s called Miz.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Loren continued.

“What’s she saying?” Cal’s mom asked. “And why’s she blue?”

“She’s saying what an honor it is to meet the parents of her fearless and noble space captain,” Cal said.

Loren scowled. “What? I’m not saying that. Tell them what I’m actually saying!”

“And how the Universe owes you both a great debt because without you, there would be no me. And a Universe without me isn’t a place she’d want to live.”

“I don’t believe you, sometimes,” Loren sighed.

Cal smiled at his parents. “I’m paraphrasing a little, but that’s the gist of it.”

Cal’s mom nudged his dad. “See? And you said he’d never amount to anything.”

“Ha!” said Cal, then he frowned. “Wait, you said that? I’m only six!”

There was another explosion from the house. Something that might have once been Famine came crashing through the wall, his skinny frame tied up in knots.

“Is that Krone in there?” asked Miz, padding over to join them. Cal’s parents both shrunk back, but young Cal stared at her in rapt fascination.

“Yeah. He’s fighting the Space Horsemen,” Cal said. “We should get out of here. Kevin, where are you?”

I’m outside your house, sir.

Cal looked around. He could see a couple of council ships blocking the street at either end, but that was it.

“Uh, no. No, you’re not.”

Aren’t I, sir? Kevin asked. Then whose house is this?

“How the fonk should I know? Just get here!”

Very good, sir.

From somewhere even further away than last time, there came the sound of igniting engines.

“Look for the dead bodies and general carnage,” Cal said. “That’s where we are.”

No change there then, sir, Kevin replied. I see you now.

Young Cal tore his eyes away from Miz as the Currently Untitled descended into a hover above the street. Cal felt himself seeing the ship for the first time and was reminded of just how fonking awesome it looked, even with the broken tailfin he knew Mech was going to go crazy about later.

“What the fonk did you do to the ship?” Mech demanded, as if on cue.

“Hey, Mech!”

“Goodness. Is that a robot?” Cal’s dad asked.

“No, I ain’t!”

“Yes,” said Cal. “Yes, he is.”

“No, he isn’t!” said young Cal. “He’s got, like, a real face. I bet he’s a cyborg.”

Cal gestured for him to shh, but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Wait… is that you?” Mech demanded. “So, what are you saying? You knew all this motherfonking time that I ain’t a robot?”

Cal pulled a sort of whoops expression. “I thought it would be funny…”

“I’m gonna kill you, man,” Mech growled. “When all this shizz is over? I’m gonna kill you.”

A pair of spiky legs sailed out through the hole in the front of the house and landed on the grass, immediately becoming stuck.

“Shizz. We’re running out of time,” Cal said. “We need to get me and my parents out of here.”

“You mean we need to get in there and kill that shizznod,” Miz growled.

Mech caught her by the arm before she could move. “We can’t go rushing in there. We’re almost out of ammo, and there ain’t no way we can take him hand to hand.”

“Like, speak for yourself,” said Miz.

“He killed you last time,” Loren pointed out.

“Because I was saving you,” Miz spat. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Cal gasped. It was loud and sudden, and took even him by surprise. “Oh, shizz! Miz, you were dead!”

Miz scowled. “Well, duh.”

“No, I mean… I mean…” Cal looked around at the mismatched group of… he didn’t want to say ‘weirdos’ but it was a pretty accurate way to describe them all. A zombie detective. A space Leprechaun. Some people who used to work in a fast-food joint. He looked at them all, and as he did, an idea crystallized in his mind.

“Holy shizz, I know how we’re going to stop him.”

* * *

Cal stood alone just outside the front yard gate, facing the door. He’d bundled his younger self and his parents into the Untitled and sent most of the others off to keep the police at bay, taking care to explain that they shouldn’t kill anyone.

Some of them had wanted to stand with him, but it was important that he was alone, otherwise, Krone might see through the whole thing.

The sounds of violence had stopped coming from inside the house a few minutes ago, and Cal could now hear footsteps within. They were shaky and unsteady, but only a little, and not nearly as much as he’d hoped.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if someone other than Krone appeared. Would that be good or bad? He couldn’t decide.

He didn’t have to. Geronimus stepped out onto the porch, his dapper appearance somewhat spoiled by the blood and gore that now stained every available patch of skin. He blinked in the sunlight, his expression one of abject disappointment.

“Rough day at the office, huh?” Cal called along the path.

Krone regarded him in silence, then glanced around the garden.

“Yeah, they’re gone,” Cal said. “It’s just you and me. I thought we could talk.”

“Talk?” said Krone, spitting the word out along with a mouthful of blood.

Cal shrugged. “You’ve lost your generals. Your ships are being destroyed as we speak. I think talking might do you good.”

Krone stepped down from the porch, his expression darkening.

“Or we could fight, if you think you’ve got it in you,” Cal continued. “Man to man, one on one, none of that space magic, using the Force shizz.”

He adopted one of the many martial arts stances he was now familiar with. “But I should warn you, I know karate. And kung-fu. And all kinds of other stuff. I’m basically Batman. Except my parents are still alive because you’re a useless fonk.”

That did it. Hatred twisted the features of Krone’s face and he launched himself into a run. He was so fixated on reaching Cal that he completely failed to notice the runic markings Dan Deadman had made on the path and the ground around it.

He failed to notice the way Cal shifted his weight to one side, or the faint blue glow in the air behind him.

His arms elongated, becoming the same metal spikes that had cut through Miz. Cal threw himself sideways out of the charging tyrant’s path, and Krone then couldn’t fail to notice the crackling blue circle on the ground directly ahead of him.

Krone kicked back frantically, skidding and sliding the last few feet toward the hole, his metal arms flailing wildly.

Cal vaulted the fence back into the front yard, getting clear of those blade-like limbs. His heart sank down into the pit of his stomach as Krone stopped himself right at the edge of the portal.

“Guys!” Cal yelped.

Deadman and Mech rose up from behind the neighboring fences. “Bringing the Brown Noise,” Dan spat, firing three shots into Krone’s back. They didn’t move any further forward, but he suddenly tensed, his buttocks tightening as his stomach emitted an animal growl.

“Wh-what the fonk?” he whispered, the blades becoming hands again as he clutched at his lower intestines.

Mech rained a barrage of blaster fire between the tyrant’s shoulder blades and he staggered forward half a step. For a moment, it looked like he was about to fall, but then Mech’s arm-cannons jammed, giving Krone enough breathing space to turn.

He parped loudly. Something squelched down the leg of his pants. “S-seriously? What the f-fonk?” he grimaced.

Cal kicked back, trying to get clear, but suddenly a large, hairy shape was stepping over him, tail swishing as she approached Krone.

“Miz, no!” Cal urged. “You can’t fight him.”

Miz glanced back over her shoulder. “Like, who said I was going to fight him?” she asked, then she pumped the police shotgun, pointed it into Krone’s pale, sweating face, and fired.

The force of the impact was just enough. He stepped back, his heel slipping over the portal’s edge. His eyes went wide. His arms came up. His bowels opened.

And then, with a scream, Geronimus Krone fell into the swirling blue vortex and vanished.

Twenty-Nine

There had been a lot of explaining to do, and quite a few apologies to dish out.

Cal wasn’t convinced some of the others had entirely forgiven him for abandoning them—Artur, in particular, kept muttering darkly and cracking his knuckles whenever he caught Cal’s eye—but Cal’s insistence that ‘all’s well that ends well’ was slowly starting to win them all around. Or at least wear them down.

He stood with his parents and younger self outside the ruins of their house, with Loren, Mech, and Miz waiting a little further away. The Carver Council had taken care of the various body parts, and Carver Eighty-Three had given some detailed, if entirely incomprehensible, advice on how to repair the worst of the damage.

After that, they’d taken off in their ships, leaving just Cal and his Space Team.

Now all that remained was the hard part.

“So,” said Cal, clicking his fingers because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Can’t you stay?” asked his mom. “Just for a while?”

Cal swallowed back all the words he wanted to say and instead said those he didn’t. “I can’t. We have to go.”

“Planets to save, eh?” said his dad.

Cal smiled. “Something like that,” he said. “Also, if the military caught us, they’d probably cut us up in a lab.”

They hugged him then, and he savored every damn moment until the wailing of sirens and the rumble of approaching helicopters reminded him that it was time to go.

Dropping to one knee, he gave his younger self a hug, too. “You’re going to be OK, kiddo,” he said. He thought of Loren and Mech, and of butterflies flapping their wings.

He shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t tell him about what would happen to his wife and daughter. The whole Universe might depend on it.

But how he could not?

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered. “It’s about the future.”

He felt tears filling his eyes. Felt his own arms around his neck, so small and so innocent.

Oh God. He was so sorry.

Cal leaned back, smiling as best he could. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Six-year-old Cal raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean space awesome?”

“Cal, we have to go,” Loren urged, backing toward the Untitled’s landing ramp. “Now!”

Cal stood up, ruffled his own hair, then gave his parents a relaxed salute. “If he ever accidentally breaks the upstairs toilet and floods the whole house when he’s, say, nine? Go easy, OK?”

His parents looked momentarily shocked, but then nodded. “You got it, son,” said his dad. “Now go.”

“We love you!” his mom called as Cal raced up the ramp behind the others. The words almost knocked his feet out from beneath him.

“I love you guys, too,” he said. He was about to turn away again when a thought struck him. “One thing I will say, Cal. If you ever meet Ozzy Osbourne. You know, the singer? Under no circumstances should you…”

“Cal!” Loren cried. “Hurry up!”

Cal shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll figure it out at the time.”

He grabbed onto Mech for support as the Untitled rose shakily into the air.

“You tell the kid?” Mech asked. “About what happens?”

Cal shook his head. “I wanted to. I really wanted to. But it’s like you and Loren said. I can’t.”

Mech shifted on his feet. “Yeah, man,” he said. “That must’ve been hard.”

“You have no idea,” said Cal, waving down.

Mech looked from one Cal to the other a few times. “Ah, fonk it,” he said, jabbing a series of buttons on his arm. His voice emerged from a speaker somewhere inside his hulking metal frame. “Kid, when you’re older, your wife and daughter die in a car accident. Make sure they don’t.”

“They can’t understand you,” Cal said.

“Like fonk they can’t,” said Mech, through his mouth. “I translated it for them.”

“What? Why? Are you nuts?” Cal yelped, as the ramp clanged closed behind them. “I thought you said… What about the butterflies?”

Mech shrugged, then led the way along the corridor in the direction of the bridge. “I figured… what the Hell?” he said. “Now come on, man, let’s get a seat before Loren crashes us into the fonking moon.”

“I heard that!” Loren called.

“Oh, shizz!” said Cal. “Kevin, did you tell her we don’t have any shields?”

“We don’t have any shields?” Loren screeched.

“I think you can safely take that as a ‘no,’ sir,” Kevin said.

Cal tiptoed to his seat, hoping Loren wouldn’t notice. She did.

“You lost all the shields?!”

“I told Kevin to fix them!”

“I did fix them, sir,” Kevin said. “Partly.”

“See? There you go! It’s fine.”

Mech regarded the screen. “We got three percent shields.”

“I did say ‘partly,’” Kevin reiterated.

“I don’t think any of us realized you meant quite that partly,” said Cal.

“This is going to get rough,” said Loren.

“It’s always rough,” Miz pointed out, glancing up just briefly from where she was picking chunks of space goon flesh from beneath her claws. “That’s, like, your trademark.”

Cal settled into his seat and pulled on his belt as the Untitled climbed away from the Earth, and from his childhood.

“How’s the space battle going, Kevin?” he asked.

“It’s over, sir. The consensus seems to be that Krone may have been controlling all those ships himself via some sort of spider-like brain creatures he was in psychic connection with.”

“We saw them!” said Mech. “Creepy shizznods.”

“Without him, they’ve gone dormant. Zertex has destroyed them all, and the council ships have retreated into the Void to await us.”

Cal looked around at the crew, then sat back in his chair and savored this moment. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen in the next moment, or the one after, or the one after that. He just knew that everything was perfect right now.

Or almost perfect.

“OK, guys,” he said. “Let’s go get Splurt and go home.”

* * *

Geronimus Krone was dead. That much was certain.

He wasn’t sure how he knew this, exactly, but know it he did. He was dead. Unequivocally, unambiguously, unquestionably dead.

Something rustled in the darkness around him. He spun, squelching faintly, in the direction of the sound.

“Geronimus?” wheezed a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. “Is that really you?”

A lump appeared in Geronimus Krone’s throat. The word, when it emerged, was a croak of sheer terror.

“Mom?"

“Yes, boy,” said the Unshuk, pulling its mask into a toothy grin. “Mommy’s here.”

* * *

Cal sat in his usual chair, enjoying a well-earned slice of banoffee pie. He’d crumbled a couple of leftover Spit Nibbles over the top, and was still trying to figure out if this provided an interesting juxtaposition of flavors, or was a bout of explosive diarrhea waiting to happen.

Sadly, it was probably the latter.

Up ahead, Ronda’s rig raced on through the Void. If Kevin magnified the screen enough, Cal could just make out Splurt sitting in front of her, gazing back at the crew and occasionally waving.

The remaining council ships were stretched out behind the Untitled, connected together by a web of two cables. There were fewer of them than there had been, and Cal had grown increasingly depressed when Carver Two had recounted their extensive losses. Hence the banoffee pie.

Had it not been for Zertex arriving, the day would’ve ended very differently. They’d vanished back into the void before Cal had the opportunity to speak to the president, their own ships apparently capable of traveling in the space between universes.

President Cal Carver. He liked the sound of that.

“So, I was thinking…” Cal said, once he’d finished his pie.

“Fonk. What now?” asked Mech.

“No, hear me out. Mech, you know how you recklessly changed the future back there?”

Loren’s head snapped around. “What?”

“Yeah. I know,” said Cal. “I tried to stop him but, well, you know what he’s like.”

“Fonk you, man!” Mech snapped.

“He told younger me about… the accident. You know, with…” He shook his head. “Anyway, here’s my question. And not that I’m complaining, because you know I love you guys, but here’s my question.”

“Just spit it out, already,” Miz scowled.

“OK, here’s my question. Why am I still here?” Cal wondered. “Why haven’t I gone all Marty McFly’s brother and faded from the photograph? Metaphorically speaking.”

“Maybe he doesn’t stop it happening,” said Loren. “Maybe he forgets.”

“He forgets a giant cyborg shouting to him from a spaceship that his wife and child are going to be killed? I somehow doubt that slipped his memory,” Cal said. “In fact, I know it didn’t, because I remember it, too. I just don’t remember anything that came after. I still remember the accident. I still remember meeting you guys on Zertex Command… whatever. And I didn’t recognize you, even though I can now remember meeting you before that. I don’t get it.”

“Time shizz,” Mech shrugged. “When Krone wiped out Earth but left you alive, it created a whole other you who was you, but also wasn’t you.”

“Master Mech is right, sir,” said Kevin. “I suspect that you—this you, I mean—now exists on an entirely different timeline to the original you. All versions of the original you, that is, regardless of whether Krone won or lost.”

“But… the karate,” Cal said. “He learned karate, and then I could do it. I remember everything he saw.”

“But only when you were with him,” Kevin pointed out. “Not now.”

“Meaning what?” Cal asked.

“Meaning I concur with Master Mech’s hypothesis,” Kevin concluded. “Time shizz.”

“But—”

“I suggest we don’t dwell on it, sir. It’s unlikely to stand up under scrutiny, and then where would we be?”

“I don’t know. Where would we be?”

“Paradox City, sir.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Almost certainly.”

Cal nodded slowly. “Time shizz,” he said, and that was his final say on the matter.

For approximately ten seconds.

“So, seeing as how Mech has already changed that timeline, and it’s now highly improbable that the new version of me is going to wind up in that jail cell with the Butcher, get abducted, blah-blah-blah…”

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “Yes…?”

Cal grinned at her. “How about we fonk it all up just a teeny tiny bit more?”

* * *

President Hayel Sinclair of Zertex half-sat, half-leaned on his desk, squeezing a tiny basketball as he considered the suggestion of his most trusted advisor.

“Very interesting, Legate Jjin,” he mused. “Parasites, you say?”

“Bugs,” Jjin said. “We rain them down, they do what they were made to do, and we extract the Butcher during all the chaos. It’s the perfect cover-up.”

“It certainly sounds like it!” Sinclair agreed. “I like this plan, Legate Jjin. I like it a lot. You’ve done well.” He smiled and pointed to the officer. “As always! I honestly don’t know what I would do without you.”

The office door slid open. Sinclair and Jjin both turned to see an Earthman grinning in at them. They didn’t really notice the smile, though, as the assault cannon he carried drew their eyes somewhat more.

“Hey, you two. Long time no see!” Cal said.

“Who are you?” Sinclair demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“That’s not important. The important thing is, there’s been a change of plan.”

Cal pulled the trigger. An explosive projectile went one way, and he went the other.

And, thousands of light years away, the people of Earth went about their business.

* * *

Cal stood on the sand in the bubble universe, watching the members of the council say their farewells as they prepared to return to their own versions of reality. There had been a ceremony for all those lost. Cal had offered to deliver the eulogy for Old Man Carver personally, before realizing that all he knew for sure about the guy was that he was old, called Cal Carver, and was nice, and so he’d left it to someone who had known him longer.

Lily and Carver Two were opening doorways for the others to leave by. All around them, blue rectangles were appearing, then disappearing again once the relevant Carver had hopped through. There were only a handful left now. It was almost time to go, but first Cal had some farewells of his own to make.

“So, what now, Nana?” he asked, as the old woman handed an armful of weapons to Higgsy and instructed him to load them into the ship they’d been given by Kornack. He dropped them immediately, but the now regular-sized Alan helped him gather them up.

“Not sure,” the old woman said. “We’ll probably go back to the restaurant to see if Jork is there. If it even exists.”

Cal nodded. They’d returned to the bubble Universe through the Void, but hadn’t yet figured out just how different their universe had become. Krone had been stopped, but that didn’t necessarily mean things were back to normal. In fact, they almost certainly weren’t.

Carver Two had at least been able to determine their universe existed now, so that was an improvement. Anything else, Cal reckoned, was a bonus.

“Well, good luck,” he told her. “And thanks for…”

He thought back, trying to recall some way in which Nana Joan had helped out, but drew a blank. “…everything you did.”

“You’re welcome, dearie,” Nana told him, then she punched him in the stomach, cackled at the way he doubled over, and trotted up the ramp after her boys.

“So much for your martial arts,” Loren said.

Cal coughed. “Yeah. Forgot it all,” he said. “Fonking time shizz.”

Miz put a clawed hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll look after you,” she said. “We look out for each other.”

“Well, thank you, Miz!” said Cal. “That’s really kind of you.”

“Except Loren. She’s totally on her own.”

“Thanks,” said Loren.

A voice barked at Cal from down near ground level. “Unhand that fine figure of a woman, ye lairy bastard!”

Cal looked down to find Artur glaring up at him, his hands on the hips of a cheeky off the shoulder cocktail dress. “Or ye’ll have me to answer to!”

“Uh, my hands aren’t on her,” said Cal, holding them up to prove his point. “Her hand’s on me.”

Artur snorted. “Oh-ho. That’s yer excuse, is it?”

Cal glanced to Mech, who stood beside him. “What the fonk’s he talking about?”

“Don’t mind Artur,” said Deadman, shambling over to join them. Ollie trotted along at his side, her head bobbing back and forth to some beat only she could apparently hear. “He has a thing for the ladies. All ladies.”

“Not all of them,” Artur protested. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Nana Joan’s ship. “I wouldn’t touch that old crone if ye paid me. Or, ye know, I’d had a few drinks.”

Dan waited.

“OK. One drink.” Artur scowled. “Happy now?”

“You were a big help back there, Deadman,” Cal said. “I owe you one.”

Dan waved a hand dismissively. “Meh. Wasn’t like we had anything else going on.”

“So, what now?” Cal asked. “Back to your city? Back to, I don’t know, hard-boiled noir adventures full of pithy comebacks and seat-of-the-pants action?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. Fonk that place,” Dan said.

“It’s a shoitehole,” Artur added.

“Your… what is she? Daughter?” said Deadman.

“Kind of,” Cal confirmed, glancing over to where Lily was hugging another of the departing Cals.

“She’s offered to take us somewhere.”

Cal raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Where?”

“Anywhere,” said Ollie. “We haven’t decided yet. But somewhere nice.”

“I thought we’d agreed nice-ish?” said Artur. “Sure, we don’t want our arses bored off, do we?”

“Sorry, nice-ish,” Ollie corrected.

Cal nodded. “Well, wherever you end up, good luck.”

Deadman returned the nod with a tip of his hat. “You too, Nob Muntch,” he said, then he and Ollie headed off to join Carver Prime.

Artur hung back, shuffling from foot to foot. He adjusted his dress, smoothed down his beard, then shot Mizette a look of absolute sincerity. “Look, I know we’re both very different people. You’re a giant wolf woman, and I’m… not. But I think we could make it work, if ye’d just come with me.”

Miz wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“Oh,” said Artur. “Well… what if I came with you?”

“No,” said Miz.

Artur tutted, then turned to Loren. “What about yerself? Ye up for it?”

“Definitely not,” she told him.

Artur puffed out his cheeks. He nodded slowly. “Ah well, feck the lot o’ ye,” he said, then he kicked Cal on the foot, turned on his plastic heels, and raced off after Deadman and Ollie.

“Little bamston!” Cal called after him.

“That guy has some serious fonking issues,” Mech observed.

“Unlike us, you mean?” said Loren. She gestured over to Lily. “You going to say goodbye?”

Cal thought about it. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, but gave it a final pass before making his decision. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He turned and began walking back to the Untitled. “I’ll say it next time.”

“Funny. That’s pretty much what Ronda said before she and Narp left,” said Mech. “Said we’d cross paths again soon.”

“In a nice friendly reunion sort of way?” asked Cal. “On in an oh fonk, the galaxy is in trouble and we’re all going to die sort of way?”

Mech shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Like, do we even have to ask?” said Miz. “It’s totally going to be that second one.”

There was a general murmuring of agreement from the others.

The Currently Untitled’s landing ramp lowered as they approached. A beach ball sized green blob rolled down and leaped into Cal’s arms.

“Hey, buddy!” Cal said. “Feeling better?”

Splurt shuddered.

“That’s great. You’re looking better. Isn’t he looking better?”

“He looks the same as he always fonking looks,” said Mech.

“What do you mean how he always looks?” Cal asked, heading up the ramp. “He’s a shapeshifter. He looks like lots of different things.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I didn’t,” Cal said. He turned to the others. “Did anyone else know what he meant?”

“I hate you, man,” Mech sighed. “I don’t know if I ever told you that. But I hate you.”

Cal grinned. “You know,” he said. “I think you might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Welcome back, everyone,” said Kevin. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing for take-off. I assume we’re heading back to our own universe to find out just how badly we’ve messed it all up.”

“We are, Kevin,” Cal confirmed. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

The others looked confused. “And what’s that?” Loren asked.

Cal grimaced, then set Splurt down on the floor. “I made a promise to… someone. I feel like I should fulfill it.”

“To who?” Miz asked.

“Long story,” said Cal. He turned to Mech. “I’m gonna need your help.”

Mech scowled. “Why the fonk should I help you? You heard what I said about hating you, right?”

“I did,” said Cal. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, cricked his neck from side to side, then presented his jaw to Mech. “Trust me. You’re going to jump at the chance.”

* * *

Tobey Maguire turned in his chair at the sound of a door opening behind him.

“Hey, hey!” Cal cried. “How you doing there, buddy?”

Tobey Maguire stood up. “Cal? You… what are you doing here? Did you get hurt?”

“God, yes,” Cal said, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “That robot bamston has one mean right hook.”

“Wait, what?” Tobey Maguire frowned. “What are you saying? You came back on purpose?”

“I told you I would,” Cal said. He held up a six-pack of cans and two DVDs. “And I brought goodies. We got beers and not only one but both Spider-Man movies!”

Tobey Maguire let out a little gasp of excitement, his eyes widening. They narrowed again when he saw the DVD covers. “You realize that’s both Amazing Spider-Man movies?” he said. “With Andrew Garfield in them?”

Cal frowned. “Is it? Fonk. Sorry. You want me to get rid of them?”

Tobey Maguire looked at the DVDs. He looked at the beers. His smile, when it came, made Cal’s broken jaw completely worthwhile.

“Ah, what the hell?” said Tobey Maguire. “They’ll do.”

THE END

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Also by Barry J. Hutchison

SPACE TEAM SERIES

Space Team

Space Team: The Wrath of Vajazzle

Space Team: The Search for Spurt

Space Team: Song of the Space Siren

Space Team: The Guns of Nana Joan

Space Team: Return of the Dead Guy

Space Team: Planet of the Japes

Space Team: The Time Titan of Tomorrow

Space Team: The King of Space Must Die

Space Team: A Lot of Weird Space Shizz

DAN DEADMAN SERIES

“Dial D for Deadman”

“Dead Inside”

EVERYTHING ELSE

The Bug