by Doug Hoffman
“Get a sample of that stuff, Joey,” ordered JT, tracking the flying alien nervously. “See what it hit you with.”
“Right, not only do I get splattered with it, now I gotta' play around in it.” Sanchez muttered. He pulled out a probe that looked like a slender plastic straw and stuck the end of it into the sticky white substance. His suit's computer automatically sent the sensor information to the ship's AI for analysis.
“So what is that stuff, M'tak?” asked Bear.
“It is a mixture of a number of organic compounds. Viscous and rather caustic,” the emotionless voice of the computer reported. “I would surmise that it is excrement from one of the flying creatures.”
This caused Bear to snort and JT to say “Joey, you are beshat.”
“It's shit?” asked Sanchez, disbelief mixing with outrage. “That batacuda asshole shit on me?” He straightened up and shook his fist at the creatures congregating on the ceiling. “Try that again, culo!”
This led to an increase in wing flapping and even louder cawing from the creatures overhead.
“I think they're laughing at you, Joey,” said Feldman, standing up slowly.
“I'm gonna' pop one of the bastards,” Sanchez snarled, putting his railgun to his shoulder.
“Belay that, Joey,” JT quickly ordered. “Wouldn't it be a bitch if you shot one of those things and it turned out to be the Station Master's kid and his buddies out harassing tourists for a few laughs?”
“Oh man, Lieutenant. What's the use of having all these cool weapons if we never get to shoot nothing?”
“Hang in there, Sanchez. This hunt is just getting under way,” Bear rumbled. “Which way you want to head, JT, left or right?”
“Let's head left, up the hallway in the direction of the antimatter collector.”
Bear nodded.
“M'tak, Bear. We are going to head toward the AM collector.”
“Roger that, Lieutenant,” the Captain's voice replied. “Remember that you are trying to make contact, not take over the station. Continued restraint is called for.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Bear acknowledged. “OK, left it is. Pop a couple of small recon drones. Feldman, you take point this time and give the whiner a break.”
“Aye, Sir.”
In the distance, creaking noises and a hollow booming sound echoed down the cavernous hallway. On the ceiling, the batacudas cackled, and from the shadows, two pairs of melon sized red-orange eyes watched the team move out.
Chapter 11
Hallway, Alien Space Station
The hallway was cluttered with mounds of junk, some fallen from the walls and ceiling high overhead, some showed signs of having been put there purposefully. Noxious emanations rose from putrefying organic waste partially covered with fuzzy coats of fungus and mats of bacteria. Had the Peggy Sue's science team been present they would have had a field day.
As it was, the recon patrol moved in biologic isolation inside their space armor. The four Earthlings advanced cautiously through the garbage and gloom. Feldman, on point, came to the end of a particularly large pile of trash that started at the far wall and formed a barrier across two thirds the width of the hallway.
Peeking around the tip of the garbage peninsula Jon held up his left hand in a fist—a signal to those behind to stop in place. Overhead, the pair of grapefruit sized reconnaissance drones weaved random paths while beaming back video of the terrain ahead.
“Looks clear,” he said after a few moments of motionless observation. “Whoever the inhabitants of this place are, I am underwhelmed by their housekeeping skills.”
“Stay alert, these piles of debris make a perfect setting for an ambush,” JT warned.
“This is like working through the back alleys of an Afghan village,” Joey chimed in from the rear. “At least those flying crap factories didn't follow us.”
“Hey, that's why we bring you along, Sanchez,” Bear rumbled. “You are a natural shit magnet.”
The foursome was strung out in a line across the open section of deck beyond the large ridge of garbage. They cautiously advanced toward what looked like a bulkhead a hundred or so meters in the distance. Feldman froze in place.
“I got movement ahead.”
The others moved laterally to clear their fields of fire. Caught in the open they crouched down close to the deck to reduce their profiles.
“Can you make out what it is, Jon?”
“Just that it's large and low and moving slowly on a diagonal path toward the far wall.” Jon took a couple of sliding steps to his left, farther from the object's path.
The creature in question emerged into a puddle of illumination from a still functioning light panel. Dark red in color, it moved at walking speed, making way for the far wall. It was, indeed, low to the deck. In fact, it was oozing along the deck surface much like a snail, leaving a noticeably wet trail behind it. There the similarity to a snail ended.
There was no shell upon its back, no discernible head with eyes on stalks. Its body looked like a flowing mass of putty, mounding to a height of a meter and a half at its forward end. The creature's body seemed to flow from back to front, up over the forward facing mound, and down the creature's front to form a thin, stationary cushion on the deck. The material at the back end of the cushion curled up off the deck once the bulk of the creature past, flowing upward to begin another transit to the front.
“Man, it looks like Meatwad,” Jon exclaimed.
“What?” asked Bear.
“You know, Meatwad from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.”
“Huh?”
“It's a cartoon, Bear,” JT filled in. “Meatwad was a sort of rolling blob of raw ground meat.”
As the moving red mass drew closer they could see that this Meatwad was not made up of ground meat. More like raggedly chopped hunks, interspersed with jagged stick like objects that could have been bone fragments. Small pieces of equipment and other debris were also embedded in the flowing ooze. The whole mass was held together by a gelatinous red substance that glistened in the overhead light.
“I don't remember Meatwad looking like that, bro.”
“Me either Joey.”
The four Earthlings stood transfixed as the strange creature slid past, showing no sign of noticing their presence. After a few moments Bear broke the silence.
“I wonder what it tastes like?”
“Brother Bear, you just killed my appetite,” JT replied. “This place is like a galactic zoo. I wonder what we'll run into next?”
“If a giant milkshake with arms or a floating box of french fries with a goatee show up I'll know we've ended up on Adult Swim.”
“Those cartoons are going to rot your brain, bro.”
“Hey, I grew up watching those cartoons!”
“Enough chatter,” Bear grumbled, “lead off Feldman. Let's see what waits for us at that bulkhead.”
* * * * *
As the recon patrol approached the bulkhead they could see that it did form a barrier across the full width and height of the hallway. In the middle of the bulkhead at deck level there was an opening, a rectangle ten meters wide by four meters tall, with rounded corners. At the bottom there was a lip about a half meter in height.
“What do you think, JT?”
“I think we need to send a recon drone to see if something is waiting on the other side, ready to jump out and say 'boo!'”
“Right, Lieutenant,” said Jon, directing one of the drones through the opening in front of them. The video returned to the anxious explorers showed a scene much like the one around them.
“Curious how there isn't any junk or piles of garbage around either side of the doorway.” JT mused out loud.
“Maybe it's a high traffic area, like a game trail,” Bear suggested.
“I hope that doesn't make us game, LT.”
“Well, there's one way to find out if it's a trap and that's to step in it.”
“Right, JT. Feldman, in you go, we'll cover you.”
<
br /> Jon acknowledged Bear's command and cautiously stepped over the threshold. The other side did look similar to the parts they had already traversed. There were large mounds of debris encroaching from either wall, though there was a noticeable absence of smaller piles of junk between them. The drone drifted toward the overhead, providing a wider view of the chamber.
“Nothing seems to be moving, LT.”
“OK, we're coming in.”
One by one the three remaining Earthlings followed Feldman into the chamber beyond the bulkhead. They left one of the drones to watch their rear, trusting those in the ship to have their back if things went sideways.
Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek
The Captain and bridge crew anxiously watched the recon patrol's progress on the ship's holographic displays—panoramic views from the recon drones on the navigation screens and shots from individual suit cams on the smaller instrument screens. Betty White, the medical corpsman, was monitoring the expedition members' vital signs via telemetry.
“So far so good,” Betty commented.
“Yes, no aliens have been slaughtered, no holes have been blown in the station and none of ours have been killed, maimed or wounded,” Jack replied, “but they haven't found anything to talk with yet.”
“Maybe the place is deserted, Captain,” Bobby suggested. “The station seems to be a wreck. The inhabitants might have left for greener pastures, leaving behind a few pets that have gone feral.”
“Sensor readings from the drones indicate that they are being shadowed by a number of creatures that remain concealed,” the ship's voice said. “Such behavior may indicate purpose and intelligence.”
“Or they may just be predators awaiting their chance.”
“True, Captain. But the chance that any unarmed creature can do significant harm to the crewmembers' armor is remote.”
“Captain,” Mizuki called from her station, “I have located neutrino emissions that indicate a store of antimatter. It is not a huge quantity, perhaps a couple of type 1 containers.”
“That's great, Mizuki. Where is it located?”
“Unfortunately, it is in the opposite direction from that which the reconnaissance party is traveling.”
“You're sure about this?”
“Yes, Captain. The readings are centered about four kilometers toward the central hub from the boarding ramp.”
“Well, they had a 50/50 chance of being right and it was logical to head for the collector,” Jack sighed. “Lt. Bear, M'tak.”
“Bear here, Captain.”
“Dr. Ogawa says she has located some antimatter back the other way. I think you might want to reverse your line of march and head toward the hub.”
“Aye aye, Captain... What the hell is that?”
Forward Chamber, Alien Space Station
The explorers were standing between two large garbage promontories: Sanchez and JT toward the hull wall, and Feldman and Bear nearer the larger mound against the inner wall. The pairs were roughly 30 meters apart. Bear had just signed off talking with the Captain when the garbage began moving.
“What the hell is that?”
“What, LT?” Feldman asked, turning toward the ursine lieutenant. As he did the pile of garbage erupted with dozens of yellow-green tentacles. Like a time-lapse video of plants sprouting, sending waving stalks with swollen tips reaching for sunlight, the garbage beside them exploded with motion. Unlike in a nature film, these stalks were threateningly large and they were reaching for the Earthlings.
The stalks were as thick as a man's thigh; the tips like featureless snake heads with mouths three quarters of a meter wide. One arched through the air above Feldman and then dropped straight down, engulfing his helmeted head.
“Ah! Get it off!” the startled Marine yelled. Another green pseudo-snake grasped his left knee and a third his right arm and railgun. Together they attempted to pull him toward the hill of garbage they had emerged from.
Across the hallway, JT and Sanchez turned to see what was happening to their mates. As they did, more waving appendages emerged from the portside garbage heap behind them. Quickly darting out, the plant like stalks latched on to the two humans with toothless mouths.
Sanchez, who had been on edge since being bombarded by the flying batacuda, reacted quickly. Pivoting on his right leg, to which one of the creatures had affixed itself, he raised his railgun and blew the head off one attacker. The 20mm shotgun round turned it into green mist. He then severed the stalk gripping his leg with a burst of 5mm flechette fire.
Using judicious bursts of flechettes, JT also managed to free himself from the two pseudo-snakes that had seize his extremities. He turned toward the portside garbage heap to find a veritable garden of waving sprouts.
“These things seem to emerge in bunches,” he shouted. “Fire at the bases, the places they come out of the garbage!”
Sanchez took JT's advice and sent a couple of HE rounds into the garbage where multiple stalks appeared to emerge. The rounds penetrated several meters before detonating, blowing sodden spurts of garbage into the hallway.
Meanwhile, bear had calmly extended the metal claws on his suit gauntlets and shredded the grasping stalks that had the misfortune to target him. Feldman, unable to fire his railgun, grasped the handle of his machete with his left hand and pulled it from its sheath. The machete was a Woodsman's Pal, a heavy piece of flat steel with a wide head and a razor sharp edge.
His first backhanded swing severed the stalk holding his left leg; his second overhanded blow cut the stem of the pseudo-snake enveloping his head. Finally he hewed the trunk of the attacker preventing use of his railgun. Using his suit's sensor display he raised his still partially encumbered right arm and loosed a volley of shotgun rounds in the direction of the starboard garbage heap.
In front of Bear and Feldman a new crop of waving pseudo-snakes emerged from a nearby location in the mound. The tentacles were attached to a single creature that opened like an octopus or giant squid, pealing back to reveal a central orifice—unquestionably its mouth. The inner flesh of the blossoming mouth was pale yellow with dark burgundy strokes radiating from the center opening. The effect was like a tropical flower, if tropical flowers came with backward facing 100mm barbs to prevent ingested prey from escaping.
“Will you look at that,” Bear said, unlimbering his 15mm multi-barreled railgun.
“No explosive rounds!” JT shouted. “We don't want to do major damage to the station. Use flechettes or shotgun rounds.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Bear said turning to glance at JT. Bear's weapon was not loaded with flechette rounds, only explosive shells. Re-holstering his railgun, Bear turned back to the alien's gaping maw. “OK, we will do this old school.”
The armored bear took two galloping strides and jumped down the alien creature's throat.
Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek
Observing the melee from the bridge, Jack saw his friend dive head first into the alien's mouth. His only thought was, I cannot believe he just did that!
I think it highly improbable that Lt. Bear is in any real danger, Captain, M'tak's AI replied silently. There is little harm an unarmed creature, no matter how vicious, can do to the Marines' space armor. Though I must admit that the Lieutenant's mode of attack was quite unexpected.
To say the least. Jack keyed the comm. “Lt. McKinnett, please take your relief force down the boarding tube and stand ready at the entrance to the main hallway.”
“Aye aye, Sir. It does appear that things are going a bit pear shaped.”
“Pear shaped, Indeed, Lieutenant. Report when you are in position.”
“Pear shaped. What a strange way to say things are going to hell,” Bobby commented to Mizuki, who was seated next to him at the helm.
“Not at all, Bobby,” Mizuki said seriously. “For certain combinations of protons and neutrons, some atomic nuclei can undergo octupole deformation, corresponding to a ‘pear-shape’. Such conditions are rare and unstable, which might be c
onsidered analogous to the reconnaissance patrol's current situation.”
“Some times you are so smart it is frightening,” he said.
Mizuki smiled demurely.
Behind them, the Captain shook his head in amusement. The crews' adaptability is truly amazing—one of their crewmates, who happens to be a polar bear, just dove inside a giant alien squid creature and they sit there calmly discussing the etymology of Australian slang using nuclear physic as an analogy.
It is not so unexpected Captain. Your species was bred for this. Your are intelligent, flexible and violent, yet unexpectedly sympathetic toward other species—on occasion. I believe you are the worthy successors of the T'aafhal.
The Captain said nothing in reply. Instead he turned his attention back to the view of the engagement, where the tide of battle had shifted.
Forward Chamber, Alien Space Station
JT turned around and saw Feldman standing alone in front of the large alien beast. He was picking off the larger pseudo-snakes with carefully aimed shotgun rounds, amputated stalk head still affixed to his helmet. Bear was nowhere to be seen.
“Where the hell is Bear, Feldman?”
“You are not going to believe this, Sir, but he jumped right down that thing's throat.”
“That oso loco is out of his mind!” Sanchez yelled while blasting away at the stalks still waving from the portside mound.
Suddenly, all the tentacles radiating from the main creature shook violently. The creature's mouth orifice, which had closed sphincter like after Bear plunged into its gullet, spasmed open and a gout of unidentifiable material spurted out. It splattered across the deck like projectile vomit.
This was followed by more ejectamenta, including what looked like a partially digested batacuda. The creature's tentacles began to thrash uncontrollably, its mouth opening and closing convulsively. Then the flesh directly above its maw was rent by four long claws. The attached pseudo-snakes went limp and lifeless.
