Space Hostages (11 page)

I
hadn't been aware of the airlock before.

But suddenly it seemed a remarkably prominent feature of the ship's design. It was a round window in the floor—or rather a
trapdoor
, because it was horribly obvious to me now that it would open, dumping anything resting on it into a kind of well beneath, the bottom of which would open into the nothingness beyond. I wondered dizzily if this was something they often did to the spawn of other species, or whether it was how Sklat-kli-Sklak imposed military discipline on the crew.

Or maybe they just used it as the office trash bin.

“You can't do this,” said Mr. Trommler weakly.

“We can,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak, sounding faintly puzzled. “The airlock is in perfect working order. It underwent standard maintenance only today.”

“I'd like to say I'm not spawn,” said Christa brightly. “I'm nearly seventeen years old.”

Dr. Muldoon levered herself out of Lena's arms. “Listen,” she said, swaying a little. “We're very sorry we inconvenienced you. It was completely unintentional. But what you're suggesting now . . . it's not possible.”

Sklat-kli-Sklak gestured with a golden arm. A soldier seized me in one three-pincered hand and Josephine in the other, and two other soldiers grabbed Carl, Noel, Th
saaa
, and Christa, and they all hoisted us toward the airlock.

“I'm
not spaaaaawn
,” Christa howled.

Loyally, the Goldfish swooped after us, flashing its eyes red and emitting a furious blare.

“Stop, god—please stop!” gasped Dr. Muldoon.

“Put down my sister,”
Lena said in a low whisper.

The Krakkiluk soldiers did put us down, or rather dropped us again, but I landed on top of the trapdoor of the airlock. I looked down at the faint glow of stars washed out in the sunlight under my hands
and scrambled back as if I'd been stung. Up on their platform, the horrified adults already looked very far away.

“Please, I'm trying to explain!” said Dr. Muldoon. “We had no way of knowing you had a claim to the planet. We did not know you even
existed
.”

“You are now relieved of the burden of ignorance,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak.

“Yes,” said Dr. Muldoon, and you had to say this for the Krakkiluks' methods: Dr. Muldoon was getting a lot better at sounding earnest and humble. “Yes, we're, uh . . . grateful for that. But there's an entire population on Aush—I mean, on the moon of Quattitak. I was . . .
involved
in the process of terraforming, I admit, but I could hardly have done it without resources from . . .” She stopped, and I could see her wondering how much the Krakkiluks already knew about Earth.

“From Earth,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak impatiently. “Are our translators not loaded with your languages? We know about Earth. Its seas are warm.”

There was a pause while Dr. Muldoon tried to work out what to make of that remark; then she soldiered on.

“Well, then, you understand. I don't have the resources to do what you're asking. Even if I wanted
to, I couldn't promise anything on behalf of either of our planets.”

“We have thought of that,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak. One of the other Krakkiluk crew—a smaller lobster person decorated with modest black polka dots—did something at a workstation, and the deck filled with the most unsettlingly familiar, human, ordinary noise. A phone ringing.

And then, even stranger, someone answered it. “Hello?” said a friendly female American voice, impossible trillions of miles away. “Darla's Dog-Grooming Dream Palace, how can I help you?”

“I am Lady Sklat-kli-Sklak of the Grand Expanse and I carry demands from the Emperor and Empress of the Krakkiluk nations!” barked our captor.

I had an instant to think what a wonderful place Darla's Dog-Grooming Dream Palace undoubtedly was and how much I wished I was there, before Darla sensibly hung up the phone.

The Krakkiluk officer did whatever they'd done before again, except this time it wasn't one phone ringing but two, ten, hundreds—thousands—swelling to a droning purr. And then the alien chamber began to flood with human voices:
“Moshi moshi.” “Pronto.” “¿Sí?” “Wèi?”
“All our operators are busy. Please stay on the line.” Until that too became
an incomprehensible chaos of sound.

“Are you . . . phoning
everyone on Earth
?” whispered Noel.

Sklat-kli-Sklak ignored him, of course. She resumed, in various languages, telling the world that she was very angry and wanted, on behalf of the Grand Expanse, to talk to someone about the moon of Quattitak.

“That shouldn't be possible,” said Josephine. She was tight-lipped and round-eyed behind her helmet, but there was a pucker between her eyebrows that meant she was curious. “How are you sending the signal through hyperspace?”

“They're
not going to answer you
,” I said through gritted teeth. It was the first thing I'd said to her since the fight on the
Helen
.

Josephine met my eyes, then quickly looked away. “Rhetorical question,” she said to the floor.

“I'm putting rhetorical questions on the list of prohibited modes of self-expression,” said Lena.

The chorus of increasingly frightened human voices was gradually fading; you could hear distinct voices again as they vanished. “What is this? What's happ—?”
“Vi prego, non far male ai bambini.”

Meanwhile we're all crouched there on the ground, waiting for the next dreadful thing to happen.

“You know what—I gave 'em a fair chance, but I've decided I don't like these guys,” said Carl, drumming his fingers on the glossy red floor.

“It's going to be fine, Carl,” said Noel.

Carl looked vaguely affronted. “Yeah, I
know
,” he said. “I'm not
worried
.”

“Can you . . .
think
of anything?” Th
saaa
whispered to Josephine.

Josephine shook her head. I knew she was
trying
, though—her eyes were skimming busily over everything within sight, every surface, every button and panel and weapon and claw.

But I didn't see there was much she could do about the fact that we were massively outnumbered and impossibly far from help.

“You want to kick seven million Morrors off the planet, and you don't even want to live on it yourselves? What
is
Takwuk, anyway?” asked Carl recklessly. “Hey. Hey, hey, I'm down here. Spawn with a question.”

The soldier was trying to ignore Carl but eventually had to give up. “Spawn should be silent,” he, or maybe she, said shortly.

“Why?” asked Carl.

“Krakkiluk spawn cannot speak,” said the soldier.

“Really? Well, fine, but we can, so what's Takwuk?”

“Not Takwuk.
Takwuk,
” insisted the soldier unhappily. “Takwuk is . . . it is a substance derived from a plant.”

“Is it
drugs
?” said Carl. “Okay, if you need an entire planet to grow your drugs on, that's a sign you have a problem.”

“Maybe they're lifesaving drugs,” suggested Noel charitably. “Medicine.”

“
Is
it medicine?” pressed Carl.

“Tsshk-lu-krrt-prruck,”
Sklat-kli-Sklak quacked, which went untranslated but probably meant “Tell the spawn to shut up,” so we did.

We could hear Morror voices on the speaker system now. “It's the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Mo
raaa,
” whispered Th
saaa
.

Then a new human voice spoke. It was very familiar; it was on television every day. And I'd been on Mars with its owner's nephew. “My name is President Chakrabarty of the Emergency Earth Coalition. I believe you wanted to speak to me.”

“Are you widowed or unwed?” said Sklat-kli-Sklak indignantly.

“Err,” said President Chakrabarty. “No?”

“Then where is your wife? We will not be insulted!
Your wife will enter the discussion at once!” said Sklat-kli-Sklak.

President Chakrabarty coped pretty well. “All right. My wife is happy to . . . er, talk. A moment, please.”

Sklat-kli-Sklak relaxed. “I had begun to worry we would encounter
no
married pairs today,” she said jovially, which the crew seemed to find very amusing.

“Hi!” said the First Lady, her voice shiny with panic, and having started talking, she had some trouble stopping. “Hi, how are you, I hope you're having a good day.”

“Yes, it is going well so far, thank you,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak courteously.

“We are delighted to make the acquaintance of a fellow spacefaring civilization,” said President Chakrabarty very carefully. “But you can't expect us to negotiate while you're threatening the lives of children.”

Again, Sklat-kli-Sklak seemed confused. “Why would we stop threatening the lives of your spawn until our demands are met? That is the whole point of this conversation.”

“I understand the problem concerns something called Takwuk,” said President Chakrabarty.

“Au-leee neth, ele vilamaaa poru!”
cried a voice from the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Mo
raaa
. Which I was pretty sure was “Don't you have children of your own?”

“Eth-hraaa vilamaaa au-thraal ruu,”
said Sklat-kli-Sklak through her translator box.

“Th
saaa
,” I whispered. “Did she say she has
thousands
of children?”

“Yes,” said Th
saaa
, who was already sickly shades of green and yellow.

“Aulereth-laa puul lashowuu,”
pleaded one of the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Mo
raaa.
This time I understood: “You cannot do this . . . !”

“. . . for the sake of a crop!” supplied Th
saaa
, shuddering through translucent grays and reds.

“What is Takwuk?” asked President Chakrabarty.

“Takwuk stimulates the senses, invigorates the body and mind,” said Krnk-ni-Plik. “Takwuk is the lifeblood of civilization.”

“It's drugs,” said Carl flatly. “You guys officially need help.”

I know why he said it. He was scared. So he wanted to act like he wasn't scared. Especially in front of Noel.

Sklat-kli-Sklak looked at Carl—it was the first time she'd looked at any of us. She said something
the boxes didn't translate.

Then Tlag-li-Glig picked up Carl and threw him out of the airlock.

It happened so quickly, and yet I saw every layer of every second of it. The effortlessness with which Tlag-li-Glig plucked Carl into the air. My arms, slow and useless, swinging up to grab at him; Carl's legs kicking as he dangled from Tlag-li-Glig's diamond-crusted arm. Tlag-li-Glig yanked the oxygen tank off his back as easily as pulling the wrapper off a bar of chocolate, slammed Carl down onto the trapdoor, and slapped a button on a plinth. The trapdoor opened like a mouth and swallowed him into the chamber below, sealing up again before I could finish shouting his name. Then I was on top of the door, banging against it, but the surface was as seamless as stone, and for an instant he was still there; I could see his eyes, wide and terrified. Then the chamber opened to the void outside, and Carl was gone.

Everyone on the bridge who wasn't Krakkiluk was screaming.

“Carl!” howled Noel.

“The oxygen tanks—for god's sake, you took his oxygen—” Dr. Muldoon babbled.

“Of course. Far kinder,” replied Lady Sklat-kli-Sklak. “We have thrown one of your spawn, the older male one, out of the airlock,” she announced loudly, though I think President Chakrabarty had already understood what had happened, from all the noise.

“Get him back!” Noel was shouting. And so was I, I realized. “Get him back, he's still alive, he must be—you have to . . .”

“We will continue this discussion shortly,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak to President Chakrabarty, while Noel reached up and grabbed desperately at the soldier who'd ejected Carl. Tlag-li-Glig flicked him to the floor, and that did something to me, I guess. Though I only realized I was in the process of charging at Tlag-li-Glig with raised fists when someone tackled me to the floor.

“Alice,” Josephine's voice hissed. She was lying across me, gripping my arm with painful force, her helmet pressed against mine. “
Shut up.
You hear me? You
have to shut up
.”

“Carl . . . ,” I said, my voice cracking.

“I know. I know. If we have any chance at all, it's
not that
, okay?”

I stared past her at a picture of Krakkiluks fording a mighty river on the wall.

“Say okay,” she said ruthlessly.

“Okay,” said my voice, apparently by itself.

She crawled off me as I sat up. “How long has he got?” I asked, staring at Carl's oxygen canisters on the floor. “The air in his suit—do you know how long he'll last out there?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing her knees close to her chest, not looking at me. “I know how long.”

She didn't elaborate and I ran out of things to say.

Noel was still howling. “Get him back! Please, he must be alive, you have to get him back!”

“Silence that spawn,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak.

“NO!” I screamed, and
“Au-laaa!”
wailed Th
saaa,
dragging Noel into their tentacles and clutching him tight.

Noel sobbed into Th
saaa
's cloaked shoulder, while Th
saaa
flickered dizzyingly through black and violet and fiery orange.

“Christ, all right!” Dr. Muldoon was shouting. “All right, I'll do it, I'll engineer you the best crop of Takwuk ever, if you like—somehow we'll do it—just, stop, get him back, please—”

“You said you could not do it without help,” said Sklat-kli-Sklak.

“Earth
will
help—I'm sure Earth will help. You have to give us time—time for the Morrors to migrate—”