14.

SPY DIVING

AFTER THE SHOT, WILLY went limp. He didn’t even have time to say “dude.” Cox’s remarkable, grief-fuelled reflexes allowed him to snag hold of the big fella before he toppled. However, he still toppled anyway, not even slowed by the feeble attempt to hold him upright. The captain cradled his curly head. With a pale, shaky hand, he gently petted the frizzy hair of his briefly employed, yet still-beloved, employee.

“Oh, Willy,” he lamented. “You poor, swarthy soul. So brave, so charismatic, and gunned down so young.”

He patted and stroked his companion’s long, dark hair.

“Look at you. You remind me of a famous Puerto Rican man named Alexander Hamilton. I bet you would have been good at rapping, too. But now we’ll never know. The ship may never have been less safe than it was with you, buddy, but I still woulda let you guard it ’til the end.”

He turned his despair onto the gunman.

“How could you?! He was just a boy! He didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Of course he didn’t,” Joakim scoffed. He dropped the pistol back on the table where it landed with a clang. “Nobody asks to get shot.”

“Why couldn’t it have been me?!” The captain wasn’t talking to anybody in particular. He simply declared his words at the ceiling, as was taught by dramatic moments in fiction. Not being much of a book reader, movie watcher, or community-theatre payer-attentioner, Joakim took a deep puff out of his e-cig and treated the question as non-rhetorical.

“It was originally gonna be you. But I realized before I shot you that Maddie over there would probably fly off the handle and ruin all the fun before I could get to the punchline.”

“’Punchline.’” Kim rolled her eyes. “You always did have a sick sense of humour, but this doesn’t even have the framework of a joke. If shooting people counted as comedy, then folks wouldn’t have complained so much during World War III.”

“Oh, now you’re going to try and tell me I’m not funny? I have a great many memories of making you laugh, and making you laugh hard!”

Kim shrugged.

“I was usually faking it. But, for what it’s worth, that was probably more my fault than yours; I can be kinda difficult. So don’t feel too bad.”

“I’m good at making you laugh right, honey?” Cox asked from the floor.

“Ehhhh . . . shouldn’t you be getting mad at him for killing Willy?”

“Oh, right, you killed Willy! You bastard!”

Joakim took another drag. He couldn’t seem to decide which of the two to look at. So he just kept sucking until he could hold no more before exhaling a sizeable smoky sigh that framed his face and briefly pooled under his pronounced brow.

“You know,” he rumbled through another puff. “I’ll give ya one thing. This wasn’t as amusing as I was expecting. Not that I expected miss stoic over here to burst into tears or anything, but I didn’t think she’d start lecturing me before I got the chance to make my point. Now the timing is all off and I feel like it’s not even worth making anymore.”

Cox’s eyes had never looked more blue as their pupils shrank to pinheads. His gentle caressing of his fallen comrade ceased as he drew himself up to his full five-foot-nine and marched over to the human steam engine.

“You just wasted a human life to make a point!” He snapped. “The least you can do is make it!”

Joakim had almost a foot on the feisty blonde when he straightened up.

“Fine, then,” he growled down at Cox. “You want to know what the point was? The point was to scare the living piss outta ya.”

“Well, mission accomplished then, tough guy! Not sure what you expected to gain, but good job!”

The giant’s oblong, bell-shaped nose wrinkled into a mandala.

“Well, it shut you up, didn’t it? At least for a second. Like I said, with all the bullshit that you were heaping on us about living our lives improperly and criticizing our values, it was all I could do to resist shooting you, Mister Pious. So high above us scummy prison guys. Just because you deliver your patronizing politeness with a smile doesn’t mean we can’t see how stupid and beneath you you think we are.”

“I . . . I didn’t mean to—”

Joakim raised a monstrous hand.

“Look, you’re obviously not a bad guy. I’d even say that you’re probably a better guy than any of us in here. But looking down on people and discounting them doesn’t become okay just because you’re nice about it. Maybe no one’s ever told you how transparent it is because you’re not the only nice person.”

Cox took a second to lick his lips and let the words percolate.

“You’re making great points, and I can’t refute all of them, because, let’s face it, I can be a bit insufferable. But can you at least acknowledge it’s hard for me to take behaviour advice from someone who just shot my friend dead because he finds me to be ignorant?!”

“Who says he’s dead?” Joakim raised an eyebrow.

“What . . . ?” The three living crew members spoke in unison.

“This is part of what I meant about you assuming we’re stupid savages,” he explained as he waved over a couple prison doctors armed with some nasal spray. Calm as clockwork, they propped up Willy’s head and began administering treatment. “I did say there was a punchline, didn’t I?”

The captain’s jaw inched as close to the floor as his facial muscles could physically allow. Even his wife couldn’t help but let slip the slight mind-blowing that had occurred underneath her silky brown locks. Surprised or not, however, Kim was still Kim.

“Well, congrats. You proved you’re not crazy by showing you’re just a complete and total asshole instead. And your concept of a joke is still idiotic.”

“Oh, what are you whining about, Maddie? You obviously didn’t even like that guy.”

“That’s beside the point. How did you trick us like that?!”

Joakim shrugged.

“There is no trick.” He picked up the pistol off the table and shot one of his prisoner friends seemingly at random. Like all the others, he flopped over into a comatose lump. “These things are glorified tazers. All the weapons in this place are.”

“Even the guards’?” Donald asked.

“Everybody’s. Why do you think they have a fully stocked weapons cache five minutes away from our cellblock? They love this shit as much as we do! Honestly, you guys still don’t seem to realize how insulting it is that you thought we were actually killing each other and ourselves over nothing. Like we’re animals.”

Cox cleared his throat.

“You mean to tell me . . . that these weapons are completely harmless?!”

Oh, god help me. Yes.”

“Then why are they putting that guy over there in a body bag?”

“Well, that’s the guy who just fell off the roof.”

At that moment, Willy came to. He shot bolt upright with what must have been some pretty impressive abs hidden under the blubber. His cheeks jiggled like a dog’s as he shook himself awake. Eschewing assistance from his orderlies, he flipped over onto his hands and knees to retrieve any spoils he’d dropped during the blackout. At no point did he ask any questions or acknowledge what had taken place. He did give a brief pause to inspect the shiny new scorch mark on his shirt, however.

Kim picked the discarded space suit from the floor and threw it at him.

“Get dressed. We’re going home.”

“OI!” A sharp voice bellowed from beyond the palisades. “Which one of you lot is in charge in there?”

Joakim cleared the distance to the wall in four good strides. Various goons and ne’er-do-wells scurried around him trying to get a vantage to peek over its bounds, while he himself just rested his arm on it like a fence between neighbours.

“You rang?”

“Fookin’ hell, what are they feedin’ you things in here?”

“You came up to my doorstep just to ask me that?”

Cox hopped atop a box to catch his own glimpse of the parlay. The harsh voice that called to them struck a chord within his memories the moment it announced its presence. Even the inherent classiness of the British inflection turned putrid in the mouth of a particular belligerent old sadist. Despite facing down an army of his antitheses, Sir Head sounded as confident and pompous as ever.

The reasoning became quickly apparent as Cox poked his head over the defences and immediately felt as though he had taken center stage at a USO show. Swaths of guards surrounded their outpost. Most had removed their helmets and lowered their weapons, but readied for combat if they failed to intimidate based off of numbers alone. Yet they waited at the wayside, granting reins to the outsider for some reason.

“I didn’t come here to ask you a bloody thing,” the universe’s happiest little agent did declare. “I came to tell you I’m shutting down your little cops-and-robbers party unless you cough up the stupid git who set my idiot partner’s face on fire.”

Joakim glanced around. It was hardly an invested investigation, as even the slightly attentive could have seen the grimace smeared all over Cox’s face, so it must have been more for show than anything.

“Well, I don’t know who you are, or your idiot partner, and I doubt anyone in here is just going to confess and give themselves up. So, not a lot I can do for ya. Now, unless you don’t mind your fancy suit getting all singed up, you might wanna take a hike.”

A petite woman with high cheekbones and librarian hair stepped forward from the battle-armoured battalion and took a spot next to Sir Head. Her sudden appearance startled him, and he frowned down at her in disgust. She swatted his gnarled hand away when it tried to push her back in line.

“Joakim, this is serious. According to this man, we really do have an actual group of terrorists in here for once. One of them severely wounded his partner while the other killed two of our staff members.”

“Hey! I only killed one of those guys!” Kim’s voice shouted back at them from somewhere within. “ . . . And before you ask, I did try using my words first!”

“Really?” Joakim sighed. “Not even going to try for plausible deniability, huh?”

“They found the bodies in my cell; they obviously know it was me. I don’t know where the other thing they’re yelling about happened, so chances are we can still plead ignorance on it.

“Oh, that one was me.”

“Thank you for saying that loud enough for everyone out there to hear, Tim.”

“Give ’em up, NOW!” Sir Head continued to demand.

“Calm your ass down, would ya?” Joakim chastised from his side of the fence. “We’re talkin’ here.”

With the fuzz suitably placated, he whirled around and hunched into the huddle.

“So, terrorists, huh? Wouldn’t have been my first guess, but you definitely have the cover part down. I would never have expected this guy.”

“We’re not terrorists!” Kim clenched her jaw shut along with her fists. You could almost hear her counting her breaths with each heavy exhale billowing out her little nose. “Look, we got caught up in something bad and the only thing we can do is lay low long enough for them to catch the guy they’re after and stop caring about us.”

“Uhhhh—” Cox began.

“Oh, right, you maimed one of them, so they definitely think we’re involved now, no matter what. What happened, anyway?! You’ve never hurt anybody in your life!”

She seemed to be more impressed than ashamed of him. All the work he had put in trying to wean her into a life of simpler pleasures and civility seemed to be coming unravelled faster than he could gather up the slack. And gathering it all became doubly difficult when, for the first time since all this began, those kind eyes were pressing him for a story instead of an excuse. Any shortcomings and failures he’d had up until this point didn’t seem to exist within this moment. Instead, she was looking at him like a real captain; someone at whom reliance and admiration could be directed unironically.

“It was just an accident,” he lied. “There was a mishap with his coffee and it burned him. Sounds like he pulled through, though. Which is good!”

And, unsurprisingly, that lit-up face dimmed away. It was such a shame to see it go that, for a moment, he was willing to scald the faces off a hundred bad guys just to bring it back. Unfortunately, if seeing it again meant regressing her back to a life where pleasure came from pain, then he’d rather give it up forever.

“That sounds more like you,” Joakim rumbled in agreement. “Alright, well, you guys go talk to him, then. It’s holding up our game.”

With a calm delivery so as to not invoke a flinch reflex, Kim reached over and swatted him upside the head.

“Oh, you kids are trying to play, huh? Don’t mind us; we’re just the only people in this room who are at risk of getting killed for real.”

“Ah—jeez, what do you want me to do about it?! I could shoot him, I guess. But then he’ll just wake up in a little while and come back pissed at me as well.”

“Just . . . just distract them somehow. Maybe we can find a way to slip out and get to the external dock.”

“Oh for the love of—” Sir Head piped up. “You do realize we can hear everything you’re saying in there, right? I’m aware mental retardation runs rampant among career criminals, but do I really need to explain how sound works?”

Even the most perceptive couldn’t have pointed out in a playback what precisely changed in Joakim’s expression following that. His bushy brows still hung low over those beady blues, and that grizzled mouth remained every bit as unimpressed, yet no more so. But there was a change nonetheless. Granted, those paying attention during his last teachable moment might have been able to deduce why a change would occur. However, to the gloriously ignorant, it seemed he was merely straightening up to stretch his back, as spines were known to be bothersome at his age. Just as seemingly innocuous was it when he, a well-established disregarder of safety, picked up the pistol from the table and began twirling it around his finger like a ring of keys. Of course, when he sauntered over to the wall and popped a shiny red cap in the Sir’s sweaty red head, that’s when people started to realize he might have an issue with something that was said.

“That probably didn’t help your situation at all,” he acknowledged to Mister and Missus Screwed. “But if sound travels so well, then he should know how I feel about being called stupid.”

What the rebels lacked in numbers, they also lacked in comparable passion after the spontaneous Ferdinand-ing. On the other hand, while lacking any visible revulsion to the fate of Sir Head, the prudish commander gave the order to attack, regardless. It was an order that was fulfilled with an alarming enthusiasm.

It was unclear whether the policing detachment had a deep-rooted allegiance to the British, more professional responsibility than they were given credit for, or were just happy to have an excuse to unpause the game, but whatever their motivation, they threw themselves at the walls like a roving horde of zombie termites and made remarkable headway reducing them to their baser components. Tensions were not as high on the other side. The good bad guys held the invaders off as best as they could for a group of semi-distracted gamblers who stood to face zero consequences for failure. They fired blindly over their shoulders while keeping eyes fixed on their cards. Misses and hits didn’t matter—unless that hit was in blackjack.

“Siri!” Cox panted into the closest mic, pausing for a wary glance over the shoulder. “Siri, you gotta—private Cox speaking—help us!”

A crinkled chunk of metal clanged off the wall inches above his head.

“Hello, Captain. Unfortunately, automated defences have been disabled in the wake of a recently detected security breach.”

“I’m open to ideas!”

“A cursory analysis of the conflict determines the quickest way to achieve resolution would be to surrender yourself in a calm and orderly manner for our helpful staff to assess your case and decide a proper course of action.”

With the weathered wall worn away, the floodgates opened. The guards spilled en masse into the little camp and for the first time seemed to shun fun in favour of their employer-mandated duties. The egregious illegal gambling taking place fell upon blind eyes. It was also pointedly ignored, since even the blind would have heard Donald yelling “Hey, aren’t you gonna do anything about all this illegal gambling?”

It was a unique feeling to be set upon by masked gunmen in the middle of a titanium superstructure floating around a planet while 1980s music played over loudspeakers and a robot voice came from beside you trying to explain that you’re the bad person here. Not the lame kind of unique either, like when parents are unable to come up with a better compliment for their child; it was an aggressive kind of unique that came bearing down with such force that you could almost hear your brain whirring like a photocopier as it was committed to memory for all eternity. And, like most forces that bore down, it came part and parcel with a pressure that in this case would crush until metaphorical bones were metaphorical dust or until it had produced some fresh-squeezed creative genius.

These guys sure seemed pretty mad, though, so it might have been a bit optimistic not to expect a few literal limb squishes as well.

“Okay, Siri, activate gravity-generator controls then!” Some of that latter stuff dribbled from Cox’s mouth. “Start redirecting gravity from the floor to that far wall over there until I say stop!”

There was an instant ominous rumbling that echoed through the chamber, like the digestive noises of a great metal whale. Anything on wheels was the first to be affected. They calmly drifted away to start, seemingly props in a gentle haunting taking place. Then shelves began to dispense their contents. Round pieces dropped the quickest, soon followed by anything else. The mass migration of metal wares overshadowed the initial rumbling, then drowned it out altogether when the shelves themselves followed to a smashing landing of their own. The encroaching enemies felt the effects moments later—and not just the ones who took spare wheels to the groin. Their intimidation factor went down in exact inverse to their path going up. By the time they were closing in on their prey, only white knuckled grips on the nearest bolted-down objects prevented a re-enactment of the Jack and Jill rhyme.

“Stop!”

The station froze. The people in it also froze. The chunks of the ice block remained frozen. However, only two of those listed articles remained stationary. With no hands to hold themselves, or will to use them if they did, the rounder fragments of ice cube teetered precariously atop the steep incline that overlooked all the mountaineers. All eyes were transfixed upon them in helpless horror, like noticing an unattended baby crawling on the windowsill of an apartment across the street. Hearts would only beat on the “to” before subsequently stopping again on the “fro”.

“Siri, would you relay a message to the impounded ship called the SS Jefferson, please?” Cox grunted through the weld-ed-on smile that he habitually donned during trying times. “We’re probably gonna be a bit late.”

Siri responded with her typical calm, authoritative voice, which was terribly ill-fitted to the current situation.

“There is no impounded ship by that name.”

Captain Cox blinked reflexively as ice flakes floated downwards toward his eyes and landed on his visor.

“WHA—ahem—where did it go?!”

“The most recently impounded ship by that name departed thirteen minutes ago, breaking mechanical restraints and injuring staff members who were attempting to board it. Since departure, it has circled the station twenty-nine times and sent fourteen transmissions, all to our Guantanamo information line.”

Somewhere beyond the vertical jungle of twisted metal and immobilized officers, the SS Jefferson could barely be glimpsed through the force field coming around for another pass. After only a few seconds, it disappeared yet again after passing through the cloud of guns, cans, shoes, and any other loose debris that had bounced their way down the hill. Not a moment too soon, either, as one of the tethers holding down a transport shuttle snapped and it too began a grinding descent, knocking several floor grates loose before passing uninhibited through the force field and gently gyrating away toward Earth.

Strange things, the fields were. They could contain the tiniest of air molecules, yet solid objects seemed to pass straight on through. Not even the captain’s illustrious schooling informed him on the science of such wonderment, but he didn’t need to understand it to have an idea.

“Siri?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“If you can, could you relay a message to that Jefferson flying around outside there? Tell her . . . Her crew is comin’. But she’s gotta catch us.”

“You can’t be serious,” Donald said from his spot bear hugging an oversized mooring cleat.

“Actually, that’s probably the best shot we got right now,” Kim said, looking down the chamber as another ship came loose and tumbled its way out. “But I can’t say I’m a fan.”

“It’s true, Donny. I know you can do it, though,” Cox encouraged the coms officer, patting him on the back with a foot. “Also, you’re definitely the big guy in this group, so we’re gonna need you to grab Willy on the way down.”

“Really? You really don’t think you’re asking a little much of me already?”

“Donny, buddy, I give you permission to whine as much as you like when we get back aboard the ship. I will probably join you. But right now, I’d really appreciate it if you could take it easy. If not for yourself, then for me . . .”

He gulped down at the proposition he’d made for himself and whimpered softly.

“I never realized until right now how much I hate heights.”

A soft pitter-patter came from beneath him. Even clad in her cumbersome spacesuit, Kim easily climbed her way up welded tables and floor grates until she stood on equal footing with him. The first mate’s gloved hand clutched the same beam as his while her other hand wrapped an arm around him and pulled his glass visor against hers.

“Just hang onto me, alright?” She soothed. “We got this. Hey, look at me. What would one of your old philosophers say right now?”

“Uhh . . .” There he was, with the love of his life in his arms facing oblivion with him and the world literally at their feet, so there really was never a more appropriate time for a quote. “I guess they’d say . . . I dunno. It’s hard coming up with one on the spot, y’know? How about: We gotta hold on to what we got. It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not. We got each other . . . And that’s a lot . . . For love?”

With a crinkle of her eyes and a bend of her lips, she raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s give it a shot.”

With nothing but faith left to bank on, they leapt for it. Cox’s eyes and glutes were clamped shut as he hurled himself off the metal cliff. Grasping hands snatched at his suit, but the slick material shrugged off any shots at seizure. These failed attempts were followed by swears and grunts that came from behind, as well as a few thuds from those making jumps of their own. But neither departee could look back even if they tried. Stuck with his glass visor facing front, Cox could all but feel the wind in his face when his body hit the floor and their mad slide to freedom began.

Their hold on each other remained as tight as ever. With chests pressed together, they tumbled and banged into protruding obstacles marring their path, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes knocking them loose to join in their escape. Resonating shudders from metal scraping against the floor filled their ears. At one point during one of his many topples, the captain thought he caught a glimpse of the angered armada of guards giving chase like a group of bloodthirsty cheese rollers. However, the flash was brief, and most of his focus was commanded by his co-conspiring coadjutors. Contrary to Cox’s orders, Donald had made no attempt whatsoever in the grasping of the Captain’s beloved Willy. However, the faithful security guard’s simultaneously brave and dim-witted nature appeared to mistake Donald’s mad spring for freedom for that of a clumsy oaf accidentally falling towards certain doom, and as such, with a passionate “I’ll save you,” Willy tried to grab him instead. Unfortunately, the thought did not count as much as the execution. The moment one hand caught Donald, the other was wrenched loose, and they spilled down in a bearhug of their own, albeit certainly lacking the same tenderness as Kim’s and Tim’s.

Irrespective of tenderness of temperament, tenderness of body was all but guaranteed by the end of the jaunt. The group of four slammed into so many miscellaneous metal objects on the way down that a bored security guard would later go on to edit pinball sound effects into the footage of their escape. It didn’t go viral, but it was a definite hit at the year-end staff party.

Every one of their hearts beat in their chests like vibrating cellphones. The constant rolling had rendered them disoriented to the point their brains were driven to disregarding all data taken in by their eyes. Every bump and thud knocked them further into a mind/body disconnect.

And then there was nothing. No more scratching noises assaulting their ears, no more roving shipping containers jumping out in front of them. Even the tumbling was reduced to a gentle rotation after they reached the edge of the hangar and burst through the force field into open space.

The comparative lack of stimuli did not render the experience any less terrifying; with a handhold not even tantalizingly close by, one couldn’t help but swiftly devolve into a neurotic mess of limbs flailing in futile attempts to cease the body’s spiralling. One by one, they spun until each could glimpse the monolithic marble that was Earth filling their view and beckoning them closer. And closer they did come, powerless to resist. To see the planet so close, yet sufficiently far away to perceive its curvature, has for centuries been a solemn reminder of life’s fragility, and here was no exception. However, while others appreciated the poetic notion of a warm orb that provided safety and nourishment from the unforgiving void, that philosophy served as little comfort to a group of four currently on track to get denied entry by the bouncer with a flamethrower that was commonly referred to as an atmosphere.

Cox hollered to his wife, his crew. They may well have returned the favour but, as that one know-it-all present during every sci-fi movie is quick to remind: there was no sound in space. Thankfully, spasmodic hand gestures could provide reliably consistent communication, whether they were produced in the vacuum of space, under water, at a great distance, or in the Horace Mann School for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Yet in only one of those locations would an enormous spaceship bearing down upon you be a welcome sight.

From behind the twisted station of twisted people, a friendly nose peeked from the shadows. The mighty whale that was the Jefferson, stronger than tin and faster than most non-rocket powered vehicles, had returned to claim that which rightfully belonged inside of it. Like a snake emerging from a basket, it slid from behind the cover of darkness to give chase in a daring space race.

The castaways rejoiced in a display of making imaginary snow angels. This was followed by a display of swimming in imaginary water when they realized their hovering home not only resembled a whale in looks but also in ability to see small creatures directly in front of it. Willy took the brunt of the impact. His splayed-out body, dangling like a marionette, absorbed the snout of the vessel and pinned an arm and leg to either side. Even with no sound to complement the spectacle, Cox couldn’t help but hear a train whistle in his head as he watched the collision play out. Still, home was a welcome sight. When he flicked on his mag boots and sidled up alongside the magnificent vessel, he tossed a cheeky glance to either side before the Jefferson found itself embraced by another, more tender hug.

REGARDLESS OF INDIVIDUAL ATTACHMENT to the Jefferson, it was a welcome change of scenery from the preceding excursion. Such excitement had pushed them all along the road to exhaustion of both the mental and physical variety, and they all shuffled wordlessly onto the bridge, dropping their helmets in a chorus of clunks and peeling space suits off their sweaty selves.

Usually the conductor of the complain train, Donald settled back into his disgusting bean bag without so much as a quip and closed his eyes. Each heavy breath inflated his belly and raised the clasped hands atop it before whistling out his nose as the two were let back down. All the while, Whisper stared at him with an expression of competing puzzlement and repugnance. She had expected the sudden and climactic return of her crew would merit an explanation without relying on her to prompt it. Even Kim, arguably the fittest of the bunch, made her entrance with the same level of enervation, while the last two carried on through and into the kitchen. The way the two remainders draped themselves in unconventional ways over their respective seats, neither seemed keen to reminisce.

Whisper continued to stare even after the groans of relief had subsided.

“Uh . . . Where were you guys . . . ?”

“Clubbing,” Kim’s muffled voice groaned from face down in her armchair. She raised her head. “Where the hell do you think we’ve been?”

“What’s up with your husband? Is he miserable too? I’ve always wanted to see what him miserable would look like.”

“Whisper, we just came from a literal warzone. Don’t you dare start in on him.”

“Whoa, jeez, it’s not like I coulda known that.” She huffed, turning back to her computer.

“You watched us all jump and free fall untethered through open space onto a moving ship. We didn’t do that shit for fun!”

“I dunno! You guys might, for all I know! You do weird things. And my job sucked too. I had to sit here the whole time, thinking you guys had died, and freaking out ’cause I’d have to find a new job and I wouldn’t have any references.”

“Will you shut up!?” Donald snapped, trying to slam a fist into the plush surface of his seat for emphasis. “Some of us have actually had a shit day.”

Whisper shrank into her chair.

“I ask one question, and you guys bite my head off. No wonder you guys hate science.”

Then, a faint clatter wrested their attention toward the kitchen. Suspecting Willy, Kim lay her face back down. Inversely, Donald and Whisper craned their necks in a way that wouldn’t amplify the sound at all but did make them feel like they could hear better. Noises emanated from the room to the tune of standard kitchen clamour like clinks, thuds, and sloshes of pouring liquid. However, they continued on in the wake of their security guard’s emergence. Wholly absorbed by the plate in his hand, he passed through the gang and took a seat of his own, eager to refuel after his recent reanimation. “Aw yeah . . . it’s so nice to have outside food again.”

“Willy, those are meal replacement capsules,” Donald informed him in a monotone voice. “They have no taste.”

“And they didn’t even feed us!” Kim’s voice rang loud even through the pillow that was smothering it.

Captain Cox, showing no signs of fatigue himself, and perhaps more motivated than ever, poked his head out from the kitchen.

“‘Scuse me there, Miss Wang. What did you do with that bottle of kids’ alcohol that Mister Nobody brought?”

His sudden appearance struck her with bemusement. Mouth slightly ajar and eyebrows slanting high, she regarded him the way one responds to a sudden inquiry from a neighbouring bathroom stall.

“Uh, it’s . . . I put it behind the wine shelf . . . ?”

“Found it!”

He emerged triumphant, raising the bottle of vile liquid like it was a royal lion cub. Those around were less than impressed, clearly hoping for an expounding on his newfound excitement for Fireball whiskey. Any would do, as current signs forced the pessimist in them all to assume some sort of midlife crisis. Should a man as bold and brash as their commander in chief add the ensuing symptoms to his pre-existing conditions, there would not only be strong reason, but also a potential legal obligation, to have him sectioned. Then again, if his mental acuity remained as sound as ever, then they would be obligated as subordinates to see through whatever and wherever this delighted display was going. At least the former option had handy burly men in white coats to do the dirty work.

Mundane in appearance as it was, the glassware fascinated the captain every bit the same as any relic he had procured. It jingled slightly with every turn of his wrists, hinting to all but the dimmest that its contents were not those that were transcribed on the label. It was too small to be a spaceship in a bottle, yet too large to be something that ended up in there by sheer happenstance. Yet, thrilling as it was, he couldn’t be brought to actually open it for a proper inspection. His usual impetuosity had waned somewhat, and for the first time, the fear of consequences saved his caution from the winds. So, instead, he took his seat and contemplated the situation— audibly, perhaps in hopes for someone to jump in.

“So this is what they all want . . . everybody. Even Nobody.”

Donald was the first to bite.

“What is it?”

The captain turned the bottle over in his hands.

“I don’t really know. That agent told me a bit about it. Just enough that I know it’s some weird alien goo that eats pretty much whatever it touches. I guess I’ll call it . . . Star jelly.”

“Star jelly is already a thing.” Whisper said, stiff as ever. After a beat she added: “I’m actually not surprised you guys don’t know that. It’s just a word idiots made up for squished frogs.”

Cox blinked.

“Alrighty. How about . . . Space jam, then.”

She shrugged. Donald showed a similar disinterest in moniker assignment, preferring instead to reach over and pilfer the last morsel from the now thoroughly contented security guard’s plate. Kim could no longer remain checked out of the conversation. Even in her tired state, she could deduce the implications of this newfound macguffin. With eyes half closed and hair fresh out of a wind tunnel, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and blew a tuft of brown locks out of her face.

“So, wait, we actually do have that thing they want?! Well, goddamn it. Chuck it out the airlock and let’s get out of here.”

At this command, her husband leapt from his chair and clutched the bottle close to his body, outraged by such a suggestion.

“They might find it if we do that!”

“Good! Even better! Maybe they won’t keep trying to find and kill us then!”

Throughout the tail end of the response, Whisper had begun a low mumble, which, by the sentence’s end, had increased to a rather emphatic hum. As soon as the first mate had curtailed her own rebuttal, she forced her way into the conversation.

“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh somebody’s hailing us!”

“Who? The prison?”

“Didn’t say! They just kinda skipped straight to throwing those blocks of ice at us.”

Whether they had fallen of their own accord or had received gentle encouragement from those too reluctant to space spelunk, the prison’s petrified water supply had become the only pursuer brave enough to follow them through the forcefield and continue the universe’s ongoing quest to ruin the crew’s day. There was a certain elegance to the way they gyrated in their general direction, as if in slow motion. ’Twas almost hypnotic. Had he the armaments, Cox would have been tempted to return fire and take part in the very first space-snowball fight. Instead, he took the other rare opportunity that presented itself: getting to tell his pilot to engage in evasive manoeuvres and actually mean it.

“Quick, Ensign Wang! Engage in evasive manoeuvres!”

“ . . . Do what?!”

“Evasive manoeuvres! Manoeuvres that will result in evasion!”

“Why—really? Sorry, I left my dogfighting helmet in my room.”

“Can you get us out of the way, please?!”

“Ugh. I already did.”

Ice, by its very nature, could be safely assumed to lack heat-seeking capabilities. Therefore, a simple sidle to the left transformed them from deadly projectiles into the interstellar equivalent of a beer bottle hurled by an insecure stepfather in a fit of inebriated fury. Missing by an inch or missing by a mile, the blocks spun like frozen fastballs on their way toward the mighty Earth. Thereupon, they would promptly burn up in the atmosphere causing at least one simpleton down below to probably look up and make a wish.

“They’re literally just floating in a straight line,” the pilot continued, gesturing forward with an open hand. Then, with an outstretched finger, she pantomimed nudging something slightly to the left.

“Boop.”

“Can we get back on track, here?” Kim, ever responsible, insisted. “Tim, you’re the most straight-laced guy I’ve ever met. I love ya for it. So why are you acting so weird about all this?! You’re purposely not complying with law enforcement. You apparently attacked somebody! What’s going on with you?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“What else have I been doing that’s weird?”

“ . . . uh. Okay, fine, just those two things. But don’t act like they’re not weird!”

“Okay! Okay! Fine. I’m being weird. Maybe I’m being weird. I don’t know.” He sighed. All this flustered head shaking had rendered his wavy hair into a tangled mess.

“It’s been a rough space day, guys. It’s safe to say we’ve all been pushed a little beyond our comfort zones. I wish I could say it’s all over now, but there’s something else we have to do.” He eyed his wife knowingly. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it yet, but that’s something her and I are going to decide. Together.”

With a hand on the small of her back to guide her, they departed the bridge and left the subordinates to their literal devices. While the reprieve didn’t have the relief that came with permanence, an extended relaxation period was not a concept likely to be snubbed by any of them. Everyone’s feet swiftly found rest upon elevated surfaces as each commenced to drown the day’s excitement under the humdrum calm of routine pastimes. All the while, Cox’s voice evaporated away into the bowels of the vessel as he chatted up the missus.

“I know it’s weird that I’m being so disobedient towards those secret agent guys. But it’s funny; that big ice cube actually reminded me of a philosopher who would totally agree with the way I’m handling members of law enforcement.”