Flux Runners

by William Joseph Roberts

The cat creature leapt to its feet and sprinted in Trae’s direction. Sliding to a halt, the creature knelt before the large man.

  Trae stopped in his tracks. “What the...well, um...okay then.”

  “Aguu araatan amitan. Bi bol Chinchassa Casraownan yum. Bi Tany sür javkhlangiin ömnö ööriigöö bökhiinö. Ööriinkhöö zamyg nadad zaagaach,” the cat creature solemnly uttered, his head bowed in reverence.

  “Um...Cap?” Trae looked down at the cat creature then back to the Captain.

  “Hell Trae, while he’s down there worshipping you and all,” Fergus laughed with a grab at his own crotch.

  “Um...how about, hell no,” Trae said emphatically. “Hey, cat, dude, thingy. Come on, get up,” Trae reached under the creature’s heavily muscled arm and lifted him to his feet. He stood nearly as tall as the large man, and easily as broad across the shoulders. “No offense, but I’d rather you didn’t do that, man.” Trae placed his hand to his chest and patted it. “Trae.”

  The cat creature glanced down at Trae’s hand then back up, a look of understanding blossomed across his face. The creature placed a clawed hand to its own chest, “Casraownan,” it said with a bowed head.

  “Casraownan, gotcha.” Trae patted his chest again, “Trae,” then pointed toward Doug. “Captain Douglas Rackham.”

  “Ca...pee...tan,” Casraownan fumbled, then turned back to Trae, “Treee.”

  “Close enough for now. It’s at least a start if nothing else.”

  “Agreed,” Doug said.

  “Wes,” Lizz interrupted. “How adaptive is our translation software?”

  “Um…,” Wes pulled back with a perplexed stare. “Adaptive enough, I suppose. I know it has the option to manually enter slang and dialects.”

  “But what about adding an entirely new language?”

  Wes reflexively tapped at his nose as he thought. “I don’t see why not. I could copy one of the other database files and manually replace words that we know as we learn them.”

  “Do it, and make that your top priority,” Doug ordered. “The quicker that we can learn their language, the better.”

  “Aye Cap,” Wes slapped the table.

  “I’ve always been good with languages,” Lizz said. “I’m going to work with Wes and Cass for a bit just to see what I can pick up.” She beamed with excitement.

  “Sounds good to me. Get us a working dictionary ASAP, even if it’s rough. Just start with the basics and start by making a list for now. Trae, Fergus, care to help me with interrogating the prisoners?”

  Krista stood, excited. “I want to help. Can I help? Please?”

  “You want to interrogate the prisoners?” Doug quizzically looked at her. “Exactly what experience do you have with interrogating prisoners?”

  “You’d be damned surprised at what I’ve picked up over the years, big boy. Just go on doing what you gotta do and don’t you worry yourself none. I’ve got this,” Krista said proudly with a wink at the Captain.

  cHAPTER 21

  Unknown Red Giant System

  2nd planet, Northern Hemisphere

  Hans Landa (interrogation room 1) / Alien Starport

  July 1st, 2176 / Late Evening (Betty Time)

  “C

  ommander Robert ‘Flip’ Winston,” Doug said as he scrolled through the crew roster on a datapad. Please specify your mission.” He calmly began to pace about the small room. The prisoner sat backed against the wall at a small metal table. Wes sat opposite of him.

  “Come on Cap, let me Zap him just once. Pretty please.” Wes beamed with maniacal delight. His eyes bulged as a wide smile crept across his face. The smell of burnt ozone filled the small space as Wes clicked the button on the taser, causing a blue arc to jump across the probes.

  The prisoner shifted on the cold metal seat. He scratched at his stubbled face and leaned forward, across the small table. “You never know big boy, I might just like that sort of treatment.” He winked at Wes with a lusty smile.

  Fergus sat stark still, across the small table from the prisoner. His face grew redder by the moment as he forced deep breaths through his nose.

  “You see, when Fergus here hits his boiling point, he may decide to rip off an ear or maybe even just your pinky finger. But once it starts there’s nothing that I can do to stop him.”

  “But I didn’t do anything,” the prisoner said pleadingly.

  Trae sighed and disappointingly shook his head. “It’s your funeral, man.” Trae stood, uncrossing his arms and slipped out the door of the small room.

  “So, I said to the guy, there’s nothing that you can do. They’re young and got to live their own lives.”

  “Exactly!” Willy shouted, bringing both open palms down upon the metal tabletop. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told my sister, those exact same words. But nooo. In one ear and out the other. She’s the kind that’s got to have her nose in everyone else's business.”

  “Wasn’t this supposed to be an interrogation?” Andy shifted nervously.

  “Well...Yeah,” Big Willy said, fumbling with the thought, then looked back to the prisoner. “What do you think Bob? Do you feel interrogated yet?”

  Bob adjusted the size too small flight suit and leaned forward on the table, stretching the garments seams to their breaking point. He smiled at Willy. “You have done a very thorough job up to this point. And I must say that even though this has been the first and only time that I have ever been interrogated, I have found the entire situation a thoroughly enjoyable experience.”

  “Ooookay…” Andy said questioningly.

  “Oh, and where are my manners,” Willy interrupted. “Would you care for some sweet tea, Bob?”

  “Why yes, I would Willy. That would be absolutely wonderful.”

  “Dieter, Johan, Captain. Martian Fatherland defense forces, 130-4752-6240,” the prisoner said coldly in a heavy German accent.

  Krista slapped her palms down on the small metal table. “Alright, that’s it, we did it your way, Maggie. I am so sick and tired of waiting for him to talk. Let’s just make him talk!”

  “Please Captain Dieter, we just need to know if you’d like to stay on or go back to Earth,” Maggie said pleadingly.

  “Amanda, bag,” Krista barked with a snap of her fingers.

  Amanda glared at Krista. “Rude much?” She dropped a heavily laden duffle bag on the floor next to Krista and unzipped it.

  Krista up at Dieter and smiled. “Now let me see what we have to work with here.” She leaned down, rummaging around in the bag for a moment before producing a highly polished speculum. The fluorescent light of the room reflected from the chromed duckbill-like paddles.

  A look of panicked concern washed over the prisoner's face. “Vas ist das?”

  The jaws of the device expanded with a satisfying click as Krista squeezed the handle. She glanced back to Dieter. A mischievous grin danced on her face as she continued to work the handle. “What? This little ole thing? It’s just something that I picked up at an antique medical auction. I’ve always wanted to try this thing out, but no one has ever been willing to let me. You’re a prisoner. You don’t have to let me do anything.” She smiled wide.

  “Really Wes,” Doug sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “No, for the last time you can not tase the prisoner. Just drop it!”

  “Awwww,” Wes said pleadingly. “Come on Cap. Just one little zap. Pretty please with sugar on top.”

  “Yeah Cap, just one little zap. Please? Right here,” Commander Winston unzipped his flight suit, pulled up his undershirt then licked his finger and began to rub his left nipple.

  The prisoner screamed out in pain. “I’ll tell you anything that you want to know! Please! Just get him off of me!”

  Trae grasped Fergus in a chokehold and leaned back. “Drop him, Ferg! Come on man, do not do this to me again. You don’t know where this guy has been.”

  Fergus’s jaw muscles flexed as he continued to gnaw on the prisoner’s arm.

  “Oh
my, yes,” Bob said. He took a satisfying gulp of his iced tea then set the glass back on the table and casually crossed his legs. “You see, I found that if you divide the injectors into clusters of five instead of the three large primary injectors for the intermix chamber there is a marked difference in response time and power output.

  “But even if you divide the flow out into clusters that would cause turbulence in the system and the heat build-up would be exponential at that junction,” Willy argued.

  “Do you have the D-7 upgrade or the D-8?”

  Willy chuckled under his breath. “Oh no, we’re still on the D-3 system.”

  “Oh really? Well then,” Bob gulped his tea. “That is just wonderful by the way, thank you.” He snuck another light sip then returned it to the table. “But I digress. You see Willy, you just install new cooling coils around each individual injector and modify the stock coolers to encompass each cluster.”

  “But if it’s set up the way that I’m picturing in my head, those injector assemblies would be at least two and a half meters in diameter.”

  Bob rolled his eyes in introspection, “Yes, that sounds about right.”

  “Won’t work. There isn’t enough space in the maintenance tube.”

  “She’s a J model Nova Star transport, isn’t she?”

  Willy chuckled again. “Oh no. The Betty is a C model, tail number 82-0033. She was one of the first to be retrofitted for colonization duty.”

  “Oh my.” Bob sipped at his tea for another moment. “I thought the last of the C models were decommissioned around 2120.”

  “They were, but we pulled her out of mothballs.”

  “Wow, that had to be an amazing feat in itself,” Bob gasped.

  Willy laughed at the memory. “Oh, it was.”

  “Well I hate to say it, but there isn’t much you can do then without a full out retrofit, which includes structural modifications to accommodate the newer equipment.”

  Andy uncomfortably shifted in the corner. “Um...I’m just going to go ahead and go if you don’t need me,” he said interrupting.

  “That’s absolutely fine,” Bob replied. “And thank you again for fetching such a lovely glass of tea,” he said as he took another gulp.

  “Dieter, Johan, Captain, 130-4752-6240”

  “Do you think that we should use the ball gag or just an old sock to gag him with?”

  Maggie let out a shocked gasp. “Why would you gag him?”

  “Because I’m going to make him scream if he doesn’t stop that incessant name, rank, serial number crap.” Krista rummaged around in the duffle bag.

  “That wouldn’t be right of us as healers,” Maggie said.

  “There are all sorts of ways people can heal and sometimes that healing can be painful.”

  “Oh hey, what’s this thing?” Amanda picked up an odd-looking two-handled contraption. A small motor was mounted to the rear of the device and an oddly shaped phallic like shaft protruded from the opposite end.

  “Oh, that might be a little above your experience level, dear,” Krista said with a, you’re not worthy sorta wave.

  “How do you turn it on?”

  “Flip that little red switch by your thumb and pull the chord if you really think you’re up for it.”

  Amanda flipped the switch and pulled the cord with all of her might.

  Wes smacked his palm down onto the small metal table. “Stop it!”

  Commander Winston smacked the table, perfectly mimicking Wes. “Stop it!”

  “That’s it you son of a bitch!” Wes leapt to his feet, sending his chair flying backward and pressed the arcing tip of the taser to the metal tabletop. Commander Winston convulsed to the rapid beat of high voltage electrical arcs.

  “Wes! Out! Now,” Doug ordered.

  “But Cap, he wouldn’t stop copying me!”

  “Out!”

  “Fine,” Wes stormed out of the room in a huff.

  Doug pressed the intercom switch on the wall near the door. “Medic.”

  “I am very sorry that you had to experience that Mr. Ward. I didn’t think that my partner’s PTSD’s were as bad as they had presented themselves,” Trae said apologetically.

  “You people let that madman walk freely about on this ship?’

  “I swear to you that most of the time he is perfectly fine.” Trae leaned forward and looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard. “You see, I know war trophies are illegal and all, but it’s one of the few things that will calm him down. He will be back in his bunk finding his zen for the moment, so you have nothing to worry about.”

  “But what the hell is wrong with him? I mean, look at my arm.” Richie held up his arm for Trae to examine. The flight suit material hung in tatters. “He tore the sleeve of my flight suit open and left teeth marks so deep that I’ll need stitches.”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Trae let out a long, reluctant sigh. “You see, Fergus was a smuggler back in the day during the Demios station revolt. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They took him prisoner and kept him on lockdown for over two years.” Trae’s gaze drifted off to his left in deep thought. He cleared his throat then continued. “He doesn’t really talk about it too much. The things that they did to that man,” Trae looked away and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. “Well, that’s all beside the point I suppose. One day he managed to escape his cell. Something about the locking mechanism failed or became jammed or something. Anyways, by his count, he had killed forty-seven guards and the warden of the facility before he managed to steal a transport shuttle and haul ass out of there.” Trae took in a few slow, deep breaths to recompose himself. “From each of the male guards that he killed; he took one testicle. And for the few females that tried to stop him, he claimed a nipple.”

  “Oh my God,” Richie gasped.

  “I know right?” Trae nervously rocked in his seat. “When the voices get the better of him, he goes down to his quarters and puts on his flesh necklace. It helps him to re-center and ground himself.” Trae demonstrated with a deep inhale; his arms outstretched to either side. Then he let out a long exhale, palms inward, forefingers and thumbs touching.

  “But what the hell set him off like that? I don’t know him. I never did anything to him,” Richie said.

  “It wasn’t anything that you did. It’s just the uniform. He was trying to kill the uniform and you just happened to be the one wearing it.”

  Richie immediately unzipped his flight suit and began to undress. “You get me a change of clothes and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I have no love for Mars or Martians, they did kidnap me, after all.”

  “Honestly, William. May I call you William?” Bob leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop.

  “Of course,” Willy said.

  “The more that I think about it, the more I realize that I really have nothing to go back to on Earth. I don’t have any family and no real friends to speak of. The only thing that I’m really leaving behind is a small collection of business acquaintances.” Bob sipped his tea slowly as he contemplated his next words. “Even when the Martians abducted me, it wasn’t a difficult transition. It just seemed like a new opportunity with a bit of excitement and adventure tossed in for good measure.” He tapped a nervous beat on the table with his fingertips.

  “You still have some time to think it through,” Willy said, reassuring him.

  “Well... there isn’t anything to think through. The reality is that my old job would have replaced me years ago. There was no reason for them to hold my position open. So I’d say that I’m in. Though I would like to return to Earth and tie up any loose ends that may still be dangling in the wind. I could possibly see if my landlord had saved any personal effects and such.”

  “I’m sure that the Captain wouldn’t have a problem in the slightest with that, Bob.” Willy held out his hand to shake.

  Bob took his hand with a firm grip and sm
iled.

  “Welcome aboard Bob.”

  “What in the world sounds like a two-stroke engine?” Doug opened the door to the small interrogation room.

  “Don’t do it, Amanda! You don’t know the power that you wield in your hands.” Krista moved the metal chair between herself and Amanda.”

  “Don’t do it, sweetie. You don’t really want to hurt the Goddess, do you,” Maggie said pleadingly.

  Dieter’s face melted with hope at the sight of Doug entering through the doorway. “Captain! Please, sir! I beg you, unchain me and let me out of this asylum.”

  Amanda kicked the chair across the room and revved the small engine of the device. She lunged toward Krista. “Fuck you, sadist!”

  cHAPTER 22

  Unknown Red Giant System

  The orbit of 2nd planet

  The Betty / Cargo Bay

  July 2nd, 2176 / 1152 hours (Betty Time)

  F ergus sat perched on the edge of the Betty’s open cargo bay. He kicked his feet in the open vacuum of space as if he sat on the edge of a swimming pool on a warm summer day. “Hold up, stop right there. That looks about even, hon,” he said over the comm system of his spacesuit.

  “Copy that, sugar buns,” Rachel said. “Locking her down. We are at station keeping.”

  A bubbly empty slurp broadcasted through the open comm signal. “Dammit,” Fergus said. “Goodbye, my sweet, savory goodness.”

  Trae threw his hands up into the air in frustration then laced his gloved fingers together behind his helmeted head. “What the hell, Fergus. Did you fill your drink pack with that fruit punch mix again? You know that stuff is hell to get washed out of the suits water bladder.”

  Fergus released a belch from the inner depths of his soul. “Nope.” He smacked his lips together. “Oh, that does not taste the same coming back up. This time I got smart,” He said with a chuckle. “I mixed a root beer and whiskey in it. All kinds of yum right there, mmhm.”