Forbidden World

by Jeremy Michelson

  He almost said something. There was a code to put in to open the airlock. But the worm dude seemed to have it figured out. A few seconds after it started working the controls. The outer door slid open.

  The worm spun around, stuck T&T inside the chamber.

  Which was perfect. The airlock wasn’t big enough for the worm thing. He’d just tell it he’d open the cargo door and then…

  Oh. Wait.

  The worm thing started folding in on itself. Shrinking as its overlapping metal plates clanked over each other.

  Damnit. Things never worked out how he thought they would.

  The worm thing crowded into the lock with him. He pressed up against the inner door. The worm’s twin red eyes fixed on him. The thing stunk like burned spice and overheated wiring.

  He tried not to breathe.

  The outer door closed. It seemed like an eternity before the lock cycled and the inner door opened.

  The thing’s slash of a mouth opened. Fiery sulfur stench leaked out of it.

  “Boobs,” the creature said.

  He was kinda regretting teaching the thing all those words.

  Maybe the translator would help. Though–and the thought made him seize up with panic–if the thing figured out what a smart ass he’d been…

  “My dick is soooooo hard right now,” the creature said.

  Really regretting some of those things he’d told the thing.

  The inner door opened. He tumbled through it. Sprawled on the floor. He gulped breaths of rancid meat stinking air. The metal worm thing moved out of the airlock, its many metal legs scratching and skittering on the metal deck plates.

  Why had he thought this was a good idea?

  Oh, right, because that wuss Chris would be here. And if he was here, then Liz would be here. And if Liz was here.

  Some metal monster ass was going to get kicked.

  He twisted his head up and down the corridor.

  Any moment now.

  The doors to the command deck stayed closed.

  So did the cabin doors.

  Even the door to engineering was closed.

  “I’m horny, baby,” the metal worm thing said, “Gonna do you all night long.”

  Oh, crap. He was so dead. His only hope was to get to his cabin and take the suicide pill mom had insisted he take along. He’d had to take it out of the case with all his other pills. It looked almost exactly like the red berserker pills. There was just a little teeny tiny skull on it.

  They could have made it a different color at least. Or put stripes on it.

  Something.

  The ones they handed out to the other covert ops guys were jet black. Hard to mistake those ones.

  When he'd asked mom about it, she said something about special extra nonpainful formula, something something…

  He hadn’t paid attention to the whole explanation. He’d been watching cartoons on his hand comm and it had gotten to a really funny part.

  But the pills gave him an idea…

  A freaking beautiful, brilliant idea.

  Damn, he was good.

  He scrambled to his feet. The metal monster crept toward him, its metal plates scraping and grinding against each other. Sulfur stench and heat radiated from the thing's open mouth.

  He pointed toward the command deck door.

  “So the controls are up there,” he said, “I’ll show you how to access–”

  The metal worm thing moved past him in a cloud of ozone and sulfur. It ripped through the command deck door and piled through.

  This was probably a bad thing. Letting monsters run amok in the control room seemed like something that shouldn’t be allowed to happen.

  Not like he could do anything about it.

  Except run his fabulous ass off.

  He sprinted down the corridor. Slammed through the doorway into his cabin. He dove for the bed. Pulled out his personal case. Dug out the box of pills and threw it on the bed. He flipped the box open and pulled out yellow Battle-Ready pill.

  Popped it in his mouth and swallowed.

  Ten seconds later, energy surged through him. His senses sharpened. Colors seemed brighter. His hearing amped up. He flexed his arms. It felt like he could punch through walls.

  All right. That was better.

  Okay. Next. Clothes.

  He dug through the piles on the floor and found some relatively clean underwear and coveralls. A few seconds later he was dressed. T&T Junior relaxed for the first time in days.

  He was feeling better already.

  He pulled on his spare boots and stuffed the pills, a stubby knife, and a small stun stick in a nylon bag. If he could get to the armory…

  But that was up next to the command deck.

  Save that for later.

  First…the galley.

  He snuck out of the cabin. Glanced up the corridor. Caught a glimpse of bronzy metal through the shredded command deck door.

  Big freak was still busy. Good.

  He tip-toed into the galley. Grabbed a handful of nutrient bars and a bottle of water.

  Holy crud was he hungry. And thirsty.

  He downed four bars without even tasting them. And the water bottle. He filled it up and downed that in one big glug, too.

  The lights flickered. The ship shuddered and something clattered and groaned from the rear of the ship. What the heck was that monster doing?

  No time to wonder.

  He stuffed his bag full of nutrient bars and water. Lugged the suddenly heavy bag out of the galley. Carefully, quietly, made his way toward the airlock.

  Froze when voices came from the command deck.

  He couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like a bunch of people, talking fast like announcers in used car commercials.

  Weird.

  But whatever kept the thing busy for a few more minutes.

  Beside the airlock was a cabinet with environmental suits. Good thing the eggheads back on Earth made sure there were spares. It wasn’t like Liz needed one. But they’d given that wuss Chris one. Not that he needed it.

  But it was big enough for T&T. With some room to spare.

  Quickly as he could, he pulled the suit on. Every few seconds casting an uneasy eye toward the command deck. The riot of nonsensical voices continued. At the lights kept flickering.

  This was bad. The ship had their only supply of precious oxygen. And food.

  Though somewhere underground there was breathable air.

  But hell if he was going back underground.

  Nope. There had to be a ship in that big, white tower.

  Not that he had any idea how to fly it. But how hard could it be? Probably just buttons and levers and stuff.

  Like everything else in his life, the details would somehow take care of themselves.

  He found an excursion bag and sealed his bag of goodies in it.

  He stepped toward the airlock. Hesitated. He should call Uncle Mattany on the secret transmitter. Tell him what was up.

  Though what the hell could he do?

  Nothing. This ship was the only one with the L-Drive. And it was just a prototype drive. It was going to take them months to make another one.

  Nope. It was up to this kick-ass covert ops agent to save the day.

  Or something.

  He slipped into the airlock. Hit the cycle button, half expecting the metal monster worm to come storming down the corridor.

  But, nope. Thing was too busy eating the ship. Or whatever it was doing.

  The outer door slid open with a hiss.

  He jumped out the door. Started to sprint to the big white tower.

  Stopped as a ship streaked overhead.

  He turned, following its track as it slowed, pivoted and lowered itself to the street on a column of fire.

  Was this his lucky day or what?

  Thirty-Nine

  Kawl Tejoh

  Captain Kawl Tejoh, master of the Don Empire battle cruiser Hojan’s Murder, Thirty-second in line for the Lordship of Tej
oh-Kav, and skilled pleasurer of other Lord’s breeding stock, leaned over in the narrow command chair of the escape pod and vomited a generous quality of Tebenian blood wine onto the deck plates.

  This was not turning out to be one of his finer moments.

  He sat up, gripped his aching head. Gingerly, he pushed back the throbbing tentacles on the sides of his head. He breathed in the astringent scent of partially digested blood wine. His stomach roiled, threatening to exile even more of the precious liquid from his digestive system.

  His clenched his pointed teeth. Willing the second wave of vomit back down.

  His glanced down and the dark red fluid pooled on the metal deck plate.

  For a very brief moment, he considered lapping it back up.

  Only because he seemed to be in very real danger of becoming sober. And if that happened, he might have to start thinking about things that had happened. Also, things that he had done. And, even more distressingly, things he might have to do in the near future.

  At no point in his preparations to take command of the Hojan’s Murder, had he considered the possibility that he might willingly eject himself from the vessel in a tiny and exceedingly uncomfortable escape pod.

  If he had, he would have secreted a supply of blood wine somewhere in the cursed pod.

  He leaned back on the cheap, poorly padded command chair. The control console curved in front of him. The panel was still lit, the holographic controls awaiting his touch.

  Was there a big, red UNDO button anywhere?

  It appeared not.

  The ship seemed to be done moving, for whatever that was worth. He should start gathering information on the situation. Do something captain-like. Though, at the moment, he was a crew of one.

  “Status report!” He barked at the computer.

  A movement he regretted, as it sent shockwaves bouncing around the rapidly sobering confines of his skull. Which sent signals down to his stomach that it was now time to evacuate more blood wine.

  He leaned over the other side of the command chair and deposited another load on the deck plates.

  Damned terrible waste of good blood wine.

  While he was wasting wine, the computer lit up the view screen and starting reporting how badly screwed he was.

  The image on the screen was a scene of fuzzy buildings in swirling reddish gray dust.

  His gut twisted. He was actually on the surface of fabled Dendon.

  “We have successfully landed on the planet surface,” the computer said in a pleasant female voice, “Atmosphere unbreathable. Possible hostile elements detected. Oxygen supply is currently thirty days, seven hours. Food supplies are rated at twenty-four days. However, records indicate the food in this escape pod is seven years past expiration date. Chances of food poisoning are thirty-six percent. Batteries currently at eighty-nine percent. However, batteries have not been replaced as scheduled. Batteries currently at forty percent efficiency. Under normal load, complete discharge in seventy-two hours. Solar recharge panels have one percent efficiency under current solar conditions. Also, waste facility supplies have not been replenished. Waste disposal inoperable at this time.”

  Kawl rubbed his forehead. Even the damned toilet wasn’t working.

  Hasty decisions often caused long-term regret.

  Though, given the state of the escape pod's systems, long-term might be reduced to short term.

  “The Hojan’s Murder is currently requesting emergency communication,” the pleasant computer woman voice said, “Shall I put on screen?”

  “No!” Kawl shouted.

  Which spurred another round of vomiting up precious fluids of inebriation. He wiped his mouth on the back of his uniform sleeve. Certainly wasn’t getting his deposit back on that one now, was he? Damned accounting demons.

  “Do not put through any communications from the Hojan’s Murder,” Kawl said.

  “Understood,” the computer said, “Would you like activate the emergency beacon?”

  “You mean it doesn’t activate automatically?”

  There was a small pause.

  "Emergency beacon malfunction," the computer said, "Manual override required. To access emergency beacon manual override, please get into your emergency evacuation suit and exit the escape pod. Walk one-quarter of the circumference of the escape pod and find the hatch labeled: Emergency Beacon Manual Override. To access the hatch, press…"

  The computer droned on about hatches and levers and buttons and whatnot. None of which he had any intention of doing. That traitor Zek could go stuff himself up the nearest jaxpolt rectum. The Hojan’s Murder was under enemy control as far as he was concerned.

  Besides, being on the ground might be safer than up in orbit.

  If that…thing showed up again…

  “Potential hostile life form detected,” the computer said.

  He jerked upright, pushing the acidy stench of his own vomit from his mind. On the viewscreen was some sort of biped in what looked like a primitive environmental suit. Running fast toward the escape pod.

  The computer overlay information on the screen next to the biped. The creature was the same approximate size and weight as a Don male. It had two arms, two legs, and a head. At least, in theory, it had a head. The suit's bulbous helmet was opaque.

  “Shall I arm the pulse cannons?” The computer asked.

  “Damnit yes!” Kawl shouted, “Kill the damned thing!”

  A whine and a buzz went through the escape pod’s hull. Followed by a grinding noise and a pop. Followed by the sound of pulse turbines winding down.

  "Pulse cannons inoperable," the computer said, "Improper maintenance procedures detected. Ion filters installed backward. Would you like instructions on how to replace them?"

  Kawl slapped his palms on his forehead.

  Which only roiled his stomach again.

  If somehow he survived all this. And somehow found the Dendon artifact and became emperor…

  The royal executioner was going to be busy.

  Very, very busy.

  “No, I don’t want instructions,” Kawl said, “What other weapons are aboard?”

  The biped creature was getting close. Slogging through the thick dust on the wide street between the towering buildings of the city.

  “Some of the expired food rations may have condensed into rock-like substances,” the computer said, “You could try throwing them at the hostile entity.”

  For several seconds there were no words he could find to express his feelings.

  His strongest desire was to return to childhood and have his Blinky nanny give him a bath and put him to bed. That would give him an opportunity to restart this life. Perhaps take a different path.

  No, no. That was the path of weaklings. He was a Don Lord after all. Well, technically, he was in the line to become a Don Lord. If all the relatives ahead of him had the good graces to die before he did.

  The odds did not look to be in his favor today.

  “Hostile entity is in contact with the vessel,” the computer said.

  Which explained the sudden banging on the hull.

  “Put it on screen,” Kawl said.

  The view screen shifted to a camera near the main hatch. The biped was hitting its fists on the hull. Vigorously. It was also twisting around to look behind it.

  The other ship.

  The entire reason for being on this wretched ball of dirt.

  The modified Marauder class ship with the mysterious engine pack. An engine pack that supposedly contained the fabled Dendon faster than light drive.

  Kawl leaned forward, squinting at the screen.

  “Zoom in on the other ship.”

  The computer dutifully expanded the view screen and enlarged the image of the other ship. The craft was covered with a layer of reddish-gray dust. But there was no doubt about the origin of the ship. It had definitely birthed in a Don shipyard. No mistaking those elegant lines.

  It was a much nicer ship than he’d ever owned. Or had be
en in.

  It was the ship of an upper class noble. Very upper class.

  Though the ship had seen better days. It appeared to have been in some horrific battle and was now patched and welded to some other monstrosity. Likely of Blinky origin, judging by the blocky lines.

  But at the rear of the craft, bulking in a smooth, white package of unfamiliar design, the engine pack…

  If he could capture that ship…

  What would be the emperor’s reward for that be?

  Probably anything he wanted.

  And had the biped come out of the ship?

  One of the Earth creatures that traitorous Zek had told him about?

  They certainly couldn't be taken seriously if their attack consisted of beating on the escape pod with their hands. Maybe he could just take the ship, return to this Earth place and conquer it. That would give him a base on which to build his own empire.

  Screw the Emperor. What had old, crippled HeJov done for him lately? Besides sticking him in a crappy ship with a crappy crew.

  It was settled then. He would capture this Earth creature. March it back to the captured Don vessel. Which he would then re-capture. And so on and so forth.

  Simple.

  But first, he needed a weapon.

  “Weapons inventory!” He shouted to the computer.

  There was a long pause. Then the computer replied:

  “Weapons inventory: Ion Pulse Laser. Currently inoperable.”

  He waited for the computer to continue.

  And waited.

  The Earth creature continued to bang on the hull. Which was getting quite annoying. Even more annoying than the odor of his blood wine infused vomit. Which was annoyingly tantalizing, and annoyingly disgusting at the same time.

  “Well, what else is there?” Kawl asked the computer.

  “You could try throwing things at the hostile entity,” the computer said.

  Kawl growled and pulled at the tentacles on his head. Which only made his head hurt worse.

  “What about hand weapons?” He said, “There should be hand plasma blasters. Plasma rifles. Knives. Something.”

  “The escape pod inventory should include two plasma rifles, three mag-percussion hand weapons, and three ajanta style short blades,” the computer said.

  Kawl rubbed his hands together.