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Authors: Toby Frost
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way.’
The loudspeakers squealed. Suddenly the room was full of bitter, raucous sounds, as though they had tuned by accident into some frenzied squabble in a duckpond. The voices barked and hissed at one another, like geese struggling to express human anger. In the stillness after the explosion, all four of them stared up at the speakers like prisoners waiting to hear the sentence passed.
‘What is that?’ Rhianna breathed.
‘Ghasts,’ Smith replied.
‘Attention human scum!’ the loudspeaker screeched.
‘Attention human scum! Ghast Empire calling!’
Very slowly, Isambard Smith picked up the intercom.
‘Put me on, Carveth.’
‘Right.’
‘Ghast ship, this is Captain Isambard Smith of the Second British Empire. What do you want?’
‘The destruction of the entire human race! Space shall be cleansed of the human taint!’
‘Anything we can do, or are you just generally annoyed?’
‘You will deliver the woman from New Fran to us immediately. Failure to do so will result in your swift and ruthless annihilation!’
The three crew watched Smith’s pallid face. A light sheen of sweat had appeared at his hairline. He swallowed. ‘You may not have this woman. You are outside Ghast space and acting illegally.’
‘Silence! There is no law! There is only strength! You will surrender immediately and pass the woman to us, or we shall destroy you all!’
‘You are making a very grave mistake,’ Smith said quietly. The voice gave an insane, wild laugh. ‘We do not make mistakes! Surrender at once! Resistance is fertile!’
‘Don’t you mean futile?’
‘… That’s what I said! Surrender or die!’
‘How dare you! Do you think I would give up a woman, someone who I am honour-bound to give safety on my ship, just because the arrogant minions of an alien despot hurl threats and abuse at me?’
‘Well, yes, we do.’
‘Alright then, give us ten minutes.’
‘Hahaha! Puny weaklings surren—’
Smith hung up.
‘Oh no.’ Rhianna closed her eyes and put her hands out in front of her. She was breathing with difficulty.
‘Channelling positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. In with the good, out with the negativity. In with the good—’
Carveth looked around the room. ‘Ah, crap. Any ideas, anyone?’
Rhianna said, ‘Okay, let’s make a Calm Circle. Let’s all join hands and try to visualise—’
‘Get the guns,’ Smith said. ‘Carveth, go down to the engine rooms and bring up a gallon of petrol and some rags. Suruk, fetch your spear and sharpen up your knives. Rhianna, just put your shoes on. We’re going out fighting.’
There was silence as Smith got to his feet. Suruk gave a low and dirty chuckle. ‘War! That’s the best news all holiday!’
3 Smith Defeats the Space Ant Horde!
Five minutes later Smith was in the kitchen area, a bottle of beer in either hand, pouring the contents into the sink. Two empty bottles stood on the draining board beside him. He looked at the bottle in his hand. The beer flowed away so quickly, he thought. Like time, like the years of his life flowing away, all to end on this wretched ship. Glug, glug. And what had he achieved? Any meaningful relationships? A career that would bring him fame and success? No. Years of being the only non A-grade student at Midwich Grammar followed by a brutal upbringing in Harcourt Park School for Boys had led straight into an insipid career as a minor space pilot. If he died now, would he get into heaven? Probably by default, he reflected: his life had been so mediocre that God probably wouldn’t have bothered watching it.
‘Oh my God,’ he cried, ‘what a waste! What the hell am I doing ?’ He stopped pouring and drank the beer instead.
‘Fancy pouring good beer away. Bally idiot.’
Suruk entered the room, his spear in hand. Smith looked up and said, ‘All set?’
‘I have everything I need,’ the alien said, counting on his fingers. ‘Machete, parang, kukri, stiletto, Bowie knife, 76 wakazashi
The loudspeakers squealed. Suddenly the room was full of bitter, raucous sounds, as though they had tuned by accident into some frenzied squabble in a duckpond. The voices barked and hissed at one another, like geese struggling to express human anger. In the stillness after the explosion, all four of them stared up at the speakers like prisoners waiting to hear the sentence passed.
‘What is that?’ Rhianna breathed.
‘Ghasts,’ Smith replied.
‘Attention human scum!’ the loudspeaker screeched.
‘Attention human scum! Ghast Empire calling!’
Very slowly, Isambard Smith picked up the intercom.
‘Put me on, Carveth.’
‘Right.’
‘Ghast ship, this is Captain Isambard Smith of the Second British Empire. What do you want?’
‘The destruction of the entire human race! Space shall be cleansed of the human taint!’
‘Anything we can do, or are you just generally annoyed?’
‘You will deliver the woman from New Fran to us immediately. Failure to do so will result in your swift and ruthless annihilation!’
The three crew watched Smith’s pallid face. A light sheen of sweat had appeared at his hairline. He swallowed. ‘You may not have this woman. You are outside Ghast space and acting illegally.’
‘Silence! There is no law! There is only strength! You will surrender immediately and pass the woman to us, or we shall destroy you all!’
‘You are making a very grave mistake,’ Smith said quietly. The voice gave an insane, wild laugh. ‘We do not make mistakes! Surrender at once! Resistance is fertile!’
‘Don’t you mean futile?’
‘… That’s what I said! Surrender or die!’
‘How dare you! Do you think I would give up a woman, someone who I am honour-bound to give safety on my ship, just because the arrogant minions of an alien despot hurl threats and abuse at me?’
‘Well, yes, we do.’
‘Alright then, give us ten minutes.’
‘Hahaha! Puny weaklings surren—’
Smith hung up.
‘Oh no.’ Rhianna closed her eyes and put her hands out in front of her. She was breathing with difficulty.
‘Channelling positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. In with the good, out with the negativity. In with the good—’
Carveth looked around the room. ‘Ah, crap. Any ideas, anyone?’
Rhianna said, ‘Okay, let’s make a Calm Circle. Let’s all join hands and try to visualise—’
‘Get the guns,’ Smith said. ‘Carveth, go down to the engine rooms and bring up a gallon of petrol and some rags. Suruk, fetch your spear and sharpen up your knives. Rhianna, just put your shoes on. We’re going out fighting.’
There was silence as Smith got to his feet. Suruk gave a low and dirty chuckle. ‘War! That’s the best news all holiday!’
3 Smith Defeats the Space Ant Horde!
Five minutes later Smith was in the kitchen area, a bottle of beer in either hand, pouring the contents into the sink. Two empty bottles stood on the draining board beside him. He looked at the bottle in his hand. The beer flowed away so quickly, he thought. Like time, like the years of his life flowing away, all to end on this wretched ship. Glug, glug. And what had he achieved? Any meaningful relationships? A career that would bring him fame and success? No. Years of being the only non A-grade student at Midwich Grammar followed by a brutal upbringing in Harcourt Park School for Boys had led straight into an insipid career as a minor space pilot. If he died now, would he get into heaven? Probably by default, he reflected: his life had been so mediocre that God probably wouldn’t have bothered watching it.
‘Oh my God,’ he cried, ‘what a waste! What the hell am I doing ?’ He stopped pouring and drank the beer instead.
‘Fancy pouring good beer away. Bally idiot.’
Suruk entered the room, his spear in hand. Smith looked up and said, ‘All set?’
‘I have everything I need,’ the alien said, counting on his fingers. ‘Machete, parang, kukri, stiletto, Bowie knife, 76 wakazashi
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