Custodians of the Cosmos

  By Drayton Alan

  Copyright 2017 © Alan Stockbridge

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1539525660

  ISBN-10: 153952566X

  www.draytonalan.com

  Dedicated to my family.

  Chapter 1

  A searing bolt of plasma struck the bulkhead ruining its postmodern contemporary finish. It left yet another smoking pockmark—one of dozens in the ship’s tastefully-decorated passageways. Most of the other blast holes smoldered and dripped, the plastic veneer still burning. Tendrils of acrid smoke drifted upward staining the wall with sooty smudges. A fine powder of pulverized chalk sprinkled the decks, shrouding each of the battle’s casualties in a thin sheet of silvery dust. The lifeless bodies of the battle’s victims lay waiting for its end. Each oozed assorted fluids, fluids that soak and stain. A human body can leak almost any of its thirty-four various fluids after being shot, fourteen of which were real nightmares to get out of carpeting. Especially with the current trend toward light colors and natural fibers.

  It had been a terrific battle, as long as you consider “terrific” to imply both terrifying and horrific.

  The aliens fired another barrage and slithered closer. The handful of surviving crewmen waited, hidden around a corner in the corridor. They couldn’t see the squidmen approaching, but the sound and smell of them was unmistakable. The deadly tentacles made ominous popping sounds. Hundreds of moist suction cups slapping walls and gripping ceilings.

  The battle had been disastrous for the humans, and this section of the ship was almost overrun. A young red-haired ensign risked a peek around the corner and fired his blaster. His shot struck one creature, knocking it to the deck and rupturing a dark purple sac; it spewed ink in every direction.

  A squidman’s body contains sixteen fluids all of which not only stain but stink, including a smelly outer coating of slime that dribbles on every surface they touch. In fact, the corridor behind them was now a jumble of slimy purple tentacle prints. Thousands of circular stains covered every surface.

  The starship’s defenders could wait no longer, they abandoned their cover, dashed out, exchanged fire, and retreated further down the passage. Standard Coalition training for repelling hostile boarding parties had not been revised for the unique challenge the squidmen posed. The old tactic of taking and holding cover, and pinning down the attackers with blaster fire would’ve been suicidal. Their feeder arms can extend to a length of twenty feet, probing around corners and behind barricades. The paddles on the ends of the feeder arms are covered with hooks. Anyone foolish enough to hold cover is easily found and pulled into the creature’s beaklike maw for a quick skull-crushing bite.

  The air sizzled with myriad lethal colors as the humans made a desperate last stand in defense of their ship. Arcs of intense light surged between the contingents. They had fallen back as far as they dared. They must turn the tide now or face defeat.

  Ship’s first officer, Commander Horatio Frakes, foolheartedly stood in the open and took careful aim at the creature he’d identified as their leader. He had a perfect shot and pulled his trigger. However, at that moment, a small dome-top maintenance robot entered the passage from a side door, directly into Frakes’s line of fire. The plasma bolt struck the side of the little robot and exploded. The five-foot tall robot made a loud screeching noise, spun in a tight circle for a moment, and toppled over spewing sparks, oil, and smoke. Laying on its side, still spinning, it gained momentum, propelled by the jet of a ruptured coolant tank. A blue-green fog of refrigerant swirled into a tornado-shaped cloud. This went on for a full minute until the droid’s scream faded followed by a loud “Pop!” The battle paused as the combatants on both sides watched the droid’s entertaining demise. Steam, fog, and smoke now filled the hallway, blocking the view of the passage.

  With the enemy distracted, the remaining humans regrouped and secured their section bulkhead. A handful of them were all that stood between the slathering aliens and the ship’s family living quarters. Then, as if on cue, somewhere in the rooms behind them a baby cried, followed by the mother’s frantic attempts to sooth it. Concern lined the foreheads of these brave men as they stared into the grim face of slithering death and inhaled the gagging stench of murderous seafood.

  One man, a quick-thinking young engineer, pulled out a handheld device and aimed it at the nexus of the bulkhead control emitters. He tapped out a code, and a temporary force field snapped into existence, securing the hallway. It isolated them from the invaders, at least for the moment. Energy from the aliens’ weapons struck the glimmering field and sizzled away in bursts of orange and violet. His concentration focused, the engineer entered a second complex code into the device, but nothing seemed to happen. He gave the others a worried look, but a moment later, with a whoosh and a splat, the area opposite them depressurized. The soft-tissued alien boarding party, now exposed to zero pressure, exploded—splattering chunks of tentacles, body fluids, and organs in every direction. A gruesome coat of alien tissue covered the formerly beige walls, fawn ceiling, and cappuccino brown floor.

  “Good show! Nicely done, lieutenant,” the first officer said, commending the man for his quick actions. He took a moment to scrape a glob of squid mucus off his shoes on to the red shirt of a nearby crewman.

  “Commander, did you see how my shot nailed the big one with the purple tissue sac?” the red-haired ensign asked. He reeked of insecurity and worried they’d missed his contribution to the battle. “Did you guys see it? I got a kill,” he repeated, trying to get confirmation from the other crewmen.

  “Yes, Ensign. We saw, it’s confirmed,” Frakes said.

  “Good shooting everyone,” Lieutenant Commander Nord said. “It was a noble battle bravely won. Our fallen comrades will feast in the Great Hall of Heroes tonight!”

  Nord is a member of the species known as the Warfians. Warfians are strong and large with craggy blue skin. The Warfian people are a warrior race that believes dying in battle is the highest honor a mortal can achieve. This was unlike the more clever race of people known as the Tinters. The Tinters believe dyeing during a battle can save your life, particularly if you dye your uniform the same color as the enemy.

  “Yes, sir, Commander Nord, Great Hall of Heroes. Yes, indeed,” the engineer said. He lived by the rule: Always agree with a Warfian. Which was a good rule to follow if you enjoyed keeping your head in its current location.

  “Can anyone explain why a blasted maintenance robot was dancing around in the middle of battle?” Commander Frakes asked. “It cut in front of my shot, just as I was about to kill their leader. I was robbed of that kill.”

  “Yes, sir. I saw that,” Ensign redhead said. “I think you should count it as a kill regardless,”

  Everyone knew Frakes would count the kill, anyway. No one, it seemed, could shoot that poorly even if he tried. How he gained rank as commander was a mystery. Because, despite his cheating, Frakes still had the worst kill ratio on the ship. Yet, none of his underlings ever disputed his claims.

  “I say we all have a drink to honor our dead,” Lieutenant Commander Nord said.

  “Attention everyone! Nord is buying.” Frakes laughed.

  The Warfian commander wasn’t amused. He made a snarling noise under his breath and dug the clawlike nails of his right hand into his thigh as he fought the urge to relocate Frakes’s head.

  “Besides that drink, I believe we have time for a friendly game of poker too.”

  The younger officers laughed apprehensively, trying to act happy about the mention of poker. Frakes was also not good at cards. This meant that the junior officers had to play badly to keep from winning. To win against Frakes meant getting crappy duty assignments for the next
week. And a crappy assignment for those that hadn’t earned a gold shirt could be lethal.

  The ensigns were still grumbling as they began their trek to the Star Lounge, the ship’s officers club. They were careful to step over the red-shirted bodies of the Fallen Heroes they were about to honor.

  “Commander?” the timid red-haired ensign asked. “Shouldn’t someone give the computer the all-clear? And maybe get the medics on their way too, sir?”

  “Good idea ensign. Computer,” Frakes said. “We've repelled the alien invasion, report an all clear to the captain, and send medics.” Then remembering the odor and splattered carnage beyond the force field, he added, “Oh, and computer, one more thing.”

  “Yes, commander what is it?”

  “Call the custodians.”

  Chapter 2

  The medics arrived and evacuated the wounded and dead humans. They pinned special tags to their bodies, and they were quickly teleported to the medical bay for examination and treatment. After the section beyond the force field was re-pressurized, the medical staff sifted through the splattered dead aliens to retrieve the remaining human casualties. Here they could only tag the big pieces and teleport them to a special room for sorting and matching. As soon as this grisly work was done, the medics also teleported out.

  Two men walked into the hallway from the direction of the elevator. They wore the standard lime green jumpsuits, latex gloves, goggles, breathing apparatus, and galoshes that were the uniform of the cleanup crew.

  “Look carefully, Newbers,” one of the men, a custodian named Nigel, said to the other. “This here’s what’s called an After Math. You see it’s called that cause it’s After they do the Math it takes to win a battle like this.”

  “Wait, they used math to win the battle?” the young man nicknamed Newbers, better known as Kale Butterly, asked.

  “Yeppers, them engineers, being smart and all, killed these squid things using the ship’s computer to depressurate the hallway. Them computers use math, so they call it an After Math.”

  “I don’t think that’s right, Nigel. I mean… well, I thought the term aftermath meant something that results from or follows a disaster.”

  “Oh, you thought, did ya? Two weeks on the job and you already know more than me. That’s rich. You’re a mister smarty pants, aren’t you? Listen, Newbers, I know what I’m talking about. If you keep talking, you gonna make people think you’re ignorant.”

  Kale couldn’t let it rest. “What about the aliens they killed with blasters—were they killed with math, too?”

  Kale was intelligent, which meant he was good at remembering facts. However, when it came to understanding human relationships, he was oblivious. Believing you are helping a coworker by correcting his long-held belief is a good way to make them shun you. It’s a good thing for Kale that Nigel was patient.

  After thinking a moment, Nigel said, “Them blasters have computers in ’em too. So they do Math before they kill ya.”

  “But that isn’t the kind of...”

  Nigel held the palm of his rubber glove in Kale’s face. “Just stop,” he said. “You know, I don’t mind answering all yer questions cause you’re new and you don’t know nothin yet—”

  Kale opened his mouth again to speak, but Nigel continued uninterrupted, “But, don’t be arguing with my answers, it aint fittin. Remember, Lieutenant Lou assigned you to me to learn the ropes. He wouldn’t a done that if I didn’t know the ropes. You, don’t know the ropes.”

  “I know some ropes.”

  “Like what ropes do you know, Newbers?”

  “I know plenty of ropes,” Kale insisted.

  “Do you even know the three laws of custodiotics?”

  “Three laws of what?” Kale asked.

  “I knew it. You haven’t even lernt about custodiotics yet and here you are telling me what for.”

  “You’re making that up. There’s no such thing as custodiotics.”

  “Fine, don’t believe me.” Nigel asked the computer, “Computer, define the word custodiotics?”

  “Custodiotics, a term for the science of sanitation, especially in regard to the cleaning and maintenance of starships of the Coalition.”

  “See you didn’t know nothin’ bout it.”

  “Okay then,” Kale asked. “What are these three laws?”

  “You should’ve learned those fore you come into space and joined up with us elite space cleaners. I don’t get where they find you new kids. Now listen close.”

  “The Three Laws of Space Custodiotics are: First, a custodian may not allow a Ship’s officer to become filthy or, through inaction, allow a Ship’s officer to encounter filth in its natural habitat. Second, a custodian must obey cleaning orders given him or her by a Ship’s officer except where such orders would conflict with the First Law—the one about not getting em messy. Then Third, a custodian must protect his or her own sanitation as long as such sanitation does not conflict with the First or Second Law.”

  Kale began. “Aren’t those the three laws of...?”

  “Of good sense,” Nigel interrupted, “That is what it sounds like to me, Newbers. And I take it seriously, understand? Now next time I tell ya something, don’t go spouting off ignorant and all.”

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

  Nigel stopped walking, turned to Kale, and looked him square in the cleaning goggles. He let out a heavy sigh and began, “Newbers, do not call me sir! I am Yeoman Nigel Van Mullet—you can call me Nigel, or Yeoman, or Van Mullet, but don’t call me sir! You got that straight? You’re lucky I’m such a toleratin fella. If you’d called my daddy a sir, he’d have cuffed ya a good one. Quit being such a smart Alice. My daddy was cleaning spaceships back when your daddy was in diaper vacs.”

  “Yes, sir… I mean Nigel Yeoman. I’m sorry.” Kale had only arrived on the ship two weeks ago, and this was his first battle cleanup. He had a lot to learn, primarily, he had to learn to keep his mouth shut. If Nigel wants to call it an After Math, what business was it of his to correct him?

  Still Kale had a long way to go before he’d mastered that lesson. He was proud of himself for not correcting Nigel’s, Smart Alice remark, at least not out loud. But he still said, “Smart Alec, not Alice,” under his breath, just for his own satisfaction.

  “Ya wanna know a funny thing about these respirators we wear, Newbers?” Nigel asked.

  “Sure. What?”

  “There’s a proximity communicator in the mouthpiece boy. It amplifies and sends everything you say, even whispers, to all nearby custodians. So I suggest, if you gonna make SMART ALICE comments like that, you keep em inside your head.” Nigel shook his head in disgust.

  Embarrassed, Kale said, “I’m really sorry, Nigel. I shouldn’t have corrected you again.”

  “Don’t worry ’bout it none, Newbers. If ya heard what was playing in my head right now, I guarantee it’d be me apologizing. Now, no more ’bout it, we got work.”

  “Yes, Nigel. Thanks.”

  “Take your squeegee and do this ceiling and then the walls. Like this.” Nigel made several quick passes along the walls and ceiling. It made the slime fall in clumps to the deck. Kale tried to do the same, but every time he tried, the clumps of ooze would invariably fall directly in his face clogging his respirator and goggles.

  “Don’t stand there and let em hit ya. Move out the way! You’ll get the hang of it. You’re doing fine, Newbers.”

  After a few moments, Kale figured out how to scrape the ceiling without it falling directly on him. He asked, “Nigel, are all battle After Math’s like this. I mean so colorful and so... pervasive?”

  “Yup, they get real colorful and per-whatcha call it, whenever there’s a depressurating. That’s what makes our jobs so very important...” He seemed ready to explain more, but they were interrupted by several small robots. “Well, there’s the bots now, so let’s us get busy.”

  Kale watched a parade of several short robots, shaped like thick trashcan lids, hum happily into the
corridor.

  “Look at me, Newbers,” Nigel said. “This is whatcha gotta do, it makes it easier on the bots. Ya take your squeegee, on the floor now, and shove the gobbly goop into nice rows like this.” Kale watched as Nigel expertly used his tool to move the piles of alien innards into rows about a foot wide. The floor here was a smooth polished beige, and the squeegee squeaked as he patiently manipulated the slimy fluids and tissue.

  “See, easy as cheese, now you try.”

  Kale started, then asked, “Why in rows?”

  “Makes it easier for these little bots to suck it up and teleport away. Now you be sure to push the big chunks against the wall for the larger bots that’ll come in a minute.”

  The small disk-shaped robots moved slowly along the rows of waste, vacuuming the slop as they went. Then they stopped a moment and hummed loudly as they processed the filth.

  “Where does it go?” Kale asked. “Those robots are too small to hold all that.”

  “That’s cause these are tele-vacuumer robots. They teleport the goop to a random spot in space, somewhere out a ways from the ship, and bring back the vacuum of space to suck up the next batch.”

  Kale didn’t correct Nigel’s explanation. Since space is nothing, and you can’t teleport nothing. The vacuum was created by the teleportation, not sucked into the device by it. So he asked instead. “Doesn’t that require a lot of power? They look too small to have fusion reactors?”

  “Yeah, it does, that’s what the humming noise is. They pull the energy from plasma conduits in the wall. The bigger bots got reactors, though.”

  Kale struggled to push the muck into neat rows for the robots. But he couldn’t seem to move the sticky stuff around like Nigel had.

  “Don’t worry, Newbers, you’ll get it, just keep practicing. Uh oh...” Nigel stopped and pointed his squeegee at a blasted robot carcass that lay smoldering on the floor.

  “Tink’s gonna have a fit. Looks like one of her maintenance bots tried to begin repairs before the battle was over. I better call her, she gonna be pissed.”