1. Bon Appetite and Other Curses
Everything about this planet sucked.
Like, major suckage on a scale so huge it was incomprehensible.
It was a ball of rock. Sharp and pointy rocks, in fact, all in weird shades of dull plum and magenta. It was as if a gigantic chunk of stone the size of earth's moon (and for the first time, Gary wondered about the moon and its lonely wandering around Sol) had been hewn off some larger planet, set adrift, and slowly worn down to a mostly round shape. The stars it orbited were tired-out red dwarfs that had little to offer by way of heat or light. Many planets, pieces of planets, breaking and broken planets, orbited the stars in crowded and occasionally overlapping circuits. It seemed all this debris had been swept into this corner of Final Space like dust on the floor, with crazy swirls of nebulae coloring the red sky by night and day.
They never bothered to name the place. Given their intent to get away as soon as possible, no one felt it deserved one. It was boring, unremarkable, barely big enough to hold a thin but breathable atmosphere (and even that stank of rotten eggs), and no variation in weather, with temperatures that ranged from sub-zero at night to blistering hot by day. The only thing this planet had going for it was a kick-ass magnetic field that kept them all from keeling over from solar radiation the moment they stepped out of the remains of the Crimson Light.
Kicking into survival mode full gear after Gary's little pep talk, Avocato listed their priorities: food, water, shelter, security needed to be established before they could tackle the bigger issues. They needed to live in order to escape. The Team Squad listened without argument because given the extent of his military education and training, he knew what he was about. What was more, Quinn, the only other person present with similar training, agreed with this course of action. Even Sheryl, whom Gary had expected to chafe at being told what to do, gave a nod and offered no debate.
As soon as they had gotten over the initial shock of crashing and Titans and losing AVA and making sure there were no injuries, Avocato had insisted they take a full inventory of available supplies. It was a depressingly short list. They had some tools, a little water, and what remained of the Crimson Light could serve as a shelter with a few modifications. No food, no medical supplies, no personal effects outside of what they'd had on their persons, and only what weapons they'd had on them at the time of the crash. The ship had come apart as they'd entered the atmosphere, breaking into chunks that were scattered over a few cliffy kilometers, each of which they'd carefully inspected. They had found a few treasures – some charged power packs for the weapons, engine parts, bits of wreckage they could salvage. Quinn and HUE eventually set about making her a warmer outfit than her old Infinity Guard uniform, scavenging canvas seat covers and some scraps of blankets and ship's insulation into clothing.
The planet was also almost devoid of life. Aside from the seven species represented by the Team Squad (Gary reluctantly included the robots in this mental catalogue, not wanting to bum HUE out as his trash robot body proved time and again that it was, indeed, trash, but less willing to acknowledge KVN's right to exist), they had discovered just one form of life on this ball of rock.
Unfortunately.
"Uh, hey, guys, I think I found something!"
It was the third day since they'd crashed and everyone was feeling the effects of no food and little water. In sheer desperation, they had fanned out in groups to search for anything edible. Gary had been teamed up with Ash and Fox, and at the Tryvuulian's uncertain call, he came running. Ash was already beside her brother, leaning over to peer into a crack on the stone, and Gary crouched down to look into the opening.
There was something pale and moving inside. The three of them exchanged anxious looks, their worst imaginings surfacing at what hideous horrors could fit into such a small hole.
"Spider, you think?" Gary asked.
"Land crabs?" suggested Fox.
"Flying leeches!" Ash sounded thrilled.
"What? Oh, gross. Wha – AAAAGH!"
He fell back in alarm, landing square on his butt as a sound like a dozen party noisemakers being blown at once erupted. A cluster of short, squishy worms with bulging, googly eyes and no notable survival instincts popped out of the hole and stared at them with empty-brained interest, jabbering.
"Come get me?" invited Ash, holding out her arm and smiling hopefully.
She was doomed to disappointment. At a glance, Gary could tell these uncooked sausages were not just slimy, but deeply, deeply stupid as well. He hated them instantly.
"Think we can eat them?" wondered Fox, hauling Gary to his feet.
Gingerly poking one with his robotic hand (it giggled in response), Gary grimaced. "God, I hope not."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
"You guys find anything?" Gary called when he spotted his mom, Tribore, and Quinn returning.
"Yeee-ah," Sheryl said. Gary had a sinking feeling he knew what was on the menu.
Sure enough, they had also found some of the ultra-stupid sausage worms. Gary stared at the wriggling bag of worms Tribore carried (she had insisted on being the one to accessorize) and prayed that Avocato, whom he knew was a hunter of more things than bounties, had bagged some huge alien creature that tasted exactly like steak when cooked.
Nope. The Catos and Mooncake returned with . . . more worms.
"Mooncake ate three of them," Avocato told him. His enthusiasm for the worms rivaled Gary's. "He doesn't seem to have been affected negatively. Does he actually digest food?"
"He can. I think." Gary held the little green blob in both hands, studying him. "Hey, buddy. Any regrets?"
Mooncake made a face. "Chook."
"I hear ya, pal." He looked to the others. "So . . . now what?"
"We could cook them?" suggested Quinn.
"That'll be a treat," Sheryl muttered. "Bon appetite."
"Language," growled Avocato, but Sheryl only smirked.
Gary sighed. English was, apparently, Galactic Standard, but any other language was suspect. He was married to a mass-murderer with standards. At least when children and ladies were present (which, apparently, did not include Sheryl Goodspeed, which made Gary love Avocato all the more).
"We need to establish if they're even edible," Avocato reasoned. Like Gary, he seemed to hope the worms weren't. "As a general rule of biocompatibility, if you can breathe the air, you can eat the food."
"The air here stinks, Dad," Little Cato pointed out. There was muttered agreement all around and Avocato offered no argument where none was possible.
"Safe bet the food probably does, too, yo. Okay. Have at it, Cato," invited the Captain, gesturing at the nearest bag of worms.
The teal Ventrexian gave him that patented smoldering glare.
"What?" asked Gary indignantly. "You ate a spider!"
"Says the man who eats raw fish and drinks acid!" Avocato shot right back. "At least the spider was barbequed!"
Seeing her chance, Sheryl couldn't resist fanning the flames. "Gary, you do know lobster and crabs are in the same phylum as spiders and bugs, right?"
"Yes, thank you, Mom, I did, as a matter of fact! Arthropods!" snapped Gary. He gestured at their bounty. "And worms are Annelida!"
"Watch your language in front of our kid, Goodspeed!" Avocato's fur bristled with indignation.
A scandalized, "Whaaaat?" erupted from Fox at this unwelcome introduction to Terran classification. All attention focused on him. The color drained from the Tryvuulian's face as he almost shouted, "I love crab! Are you telling me I ate bugs?"
"Heck no," Little Cato interjected. "Those were spiders you ate."
Fox screamed some more, in sudden, desperate need of culinary therapy.
"I ate a bug once," Ash said softly, holding up two fingers very close to verify the size. "It was a dare."
More howls of disgust from her peers accompanied this claim to fame. Off to the side, Quinn sighed, shaking her head as the arguing attracted HUE and KVN. She was about to step in when a green hand on her arm stopped her.
"Quinn, wait. Should we let them vent? Yes, we should," Tribore insisted softly. "Everyone's stressed. We're all frightened. Let them get it out of their systems before we have to live on worms. Besides, it's funny."
Quinn had to admit, it was pretty entertaining, and she suspected everyone was deliberately prolonging the debate for that exact reason and to avoid having to face the ugly, wriggly truth. Anyone watching from a distance would have assumed they had stumbled across an insane asylum where the occupants were preoccupied with worms. They wouldn't be far from wrong, either.
Tribore let the pointless (but colorful) arguing wear on for a few more moments before taking the floor. Grabbing a worm from the bag over her shoulder, she handed it to Quinn, saying "Take one and pass it around."
Dreading what was coming, Quinn obeyed.
Adjusting her beret with one hand to the jaunties angle possible, Tribore made sure no one (save Mooncake) skipped their worm. Silence fell as everyone stared into the googly eyes of what was clearly their next meal.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! Whatever it is you want to be called today, just pick one and go with it. Listen up! We all know this corner we're in is tighter than Gary's jeans. Yes, Avocato, we know you two are married, but you're not the only adult with eyes here. Deal with it. I don't need to itemize the list of obstacles we're facing, but if anyone wants to hear it, I can go over it in excruciating detail."
Groans and protests rose up to the contrary, since they all knew by Day 2 that Tribore's greatest problem with Final Space was the lack of soap operas.
"Have we got options? No, no, we don't, people. Our options are these lovely worms, or starvation."
"And if they're poisonous?" challenged Sheryl.
Tribore waved her giggling worm, dismissing all arguments. "Even if they are, Hot Momma, we have no way to test or treat that. Be grateful I'm not explaining why. If they're poisonous, we die quickly instead of slowly. I say we all live or die or live together. I'd ask who's with me, but clearly, all of you are."
HUE was looking into the bag and its few remaining specimens. "I would try one in solidarity, but I have no mouth."
"Quit bragging," said Little Cato, grimacing.
"Tribore's right, Team Squad," Gary said, unable to inject even a trace of enthusiasm into his voice. He glanced at Quinn, at Avocato beside him, Little Cato, the others. Everyone had sobered up these last few moments. They knew what they were facing. "Let's get this over with. I'll count down from three and . . . we eat this . . . glorious . . . food . . . stuff."
There were more sighs, but no arguments.
"Anybody need a minute?" he asked, desperate to delay the inevitable.
"Just do it," his mother ordered, her teeth clenched.
"Okay. Three. Two." He looked at the stupid little worm blinking up at him and closed his eyes, bracing his whole being and all his senses for what was to come. "One!"
He bit down.
It crunched. Once. Gary Goodspeed had but one thought:
Oh.
My.
Craaaaaap.
He would have paid anything, anything to turn off his senses. All of them. Immediately This was the worst thing he'd ever done to himself, and that was saying something.
It was squishy. And slimy. In his mouth. Between his teeth. He chewed, but it was like shoveling in a mouthful of goo with fish bones. Gross tasting goo. He could taste rotten eggs and essence of sour milk and overtones of stale beer and bad everything at once and somehow, he swallowed without choking.
He gasped, almost doubled over, hoping for poison.
No such luck.
Beside him, Avocato made a sound midway between a gag and a groan, neatly summarizing everyone's response to their new diet. Gary forced his eye open a crack. Avocato hadn't reached the eye-open stage yet, and was breathing through his mouth to minimize the taste. Gary wished he'd thought of that fifteen seconds ago.
"That was beyond disgusting," Gary managed to whisper.
"Yeah," was the quick reply before Avocato clamped his mouth shut again.
"Tastes like a butt hole," he added.
Somehow, Avocato managed to look even more traumatized than he had a minute ago. He stared at Gary, slack-jawed and momentarily distracted from the atrocity happening to his taste buds.
"Why would you know that, Gary?"
"Oh, cra- I mean, uh . . ."
An open teal hand was thrust towards him, forestalling any explanations. Avocato closed his eyes again and insisted, "Do not answer that question."
Gary nodded, glad to let it drop.
The rest of the Team Squad was in little better shape. Sounds of retching and disgust filled the air. Little Cato and Quinn both whimpered as if they wanted to cry, and Gary was fairly sure he wore an identical expression. His mother was pale and trying to compose herself, while Fox looked on the verge of passing out. Tribore, Gary would have sworn, had turned a darker green. Nausea, maybe? And Ash . . . ?
The Serpentian girl was the only one fully upright, and the only one not reeling at this Annelida assault on the senses. As Gary watched, she actually took another deliberate bite and chirped,
"It's not bad."
Sounds of agony and disagreement rose from all sides. Gary knew his voice was among them and he was gaping in horror at the chipper, pink-haired girl noshing on a squishy worm like it was a corn dog.
And then, somehow, it got worse.
The head-bitten worm wiggled in his grasp. Some dead or dying nerves firing in its nervous system, he assumed. He looked at the oozing corpse he held, absolutely not tempted to have a second round, when suddenly the wiggling increased and a new head – full sized and with googly eyes - popped up where the one now doing battle with Gary's stomach had been.
Despite himself, he screamed in shock, barely aware that around him, everyone was undergoing the same experience. More panicked screams erupted from every quarter and suddenly chubby worms were being flung far and wide and the Team Squad scattered.
"Oh. Dear. God." Gary stared at the life form in his grasp, knowing the only fuel it would provide would be for nightmares.
"Hey, are you going to finish that?" asked Ash, pointing at the worm. "I'm still pretty hungry and everyone else just threw theirs away."
"Take it," he squeaked, averting his gaze as he handed it over.
This was the only thing to eat.
Gary sat down, then sat back, then sprawled on the ugly purple stone beneath him and stared at a sky that was just about the same color as his own blood.
"Welcome to hell, Team Squad," he muttered.
Escape - in whatever form it decided to take - couldn't come fast enough for Gary Goodspeed.