by Shae Hutto
Commander Otto sucked in her breath in shock and fear, but then those emotions were rapidly replaced by a searing burning hatred as a gang of pirates clambered improbably out of the suit storage compartment. She knew these particular pirates. They were responsible for a robbery a few months previous where they had taken proof of extraterrestrial life. Worse, they had stolen that proof from her.
“Claire!” she hissed through clenched teeth, as she recognized the leader of the crew of bloodthirsty space thieves. She went for her blaster pistol, which should have been locked securely in the arms locker and never, ever taken out. Unfortunately, Commander Otto had become a trifle paranoid after being tricked by her chief engineer, locked in the hangar and then robbed by a teenaged pirate duo. So, now that blaster was here, and it was firing a searing hot projectile of magnetically contained and accelerated plasma at the emergency suit storage locker. Predictably, all hell broke loose.
Claire heard her name uttered with immense rage. Her first thought was that she hoped to never hear her name said like that ever again; it brought back embarrassing memories of her mother’s reaction when she had used a red magic marker to partially paint a kitchen cabinet door when she was four
. Her next thought was more practical and led to her tackling Roger who was going first through the door to the Ramses. If she hadn’t, the bolt of superheated plasma would have hit him squarely in the chest and turned his heart into a poor imitation of a Thanksgiving Turkey. More the size of a Cornish hen. A malnourished one, charred to a crisp.
Fortunately, the rest of her crew wasn’t lined up single file waiting to go through the door. When Claire tackled Roger to the ground, the bolt hit the wall of the corridor opposite the door and left an ugly burned patch on the wall, exposing some material that looked like smooth rock underneath the grey composite wall material. Amanda stood frozen, looking in awe at the burned and smoking patch of otherworldly wall, while Nick hit the deck like a hardened combat veteran. Weenie launched himself toward the source of the blast like a hero of myth and legend, only furry. He sailed over the heads of Claire and Roger as they tumbled through the doorway onto the steel floor of the command deck. Two more bolts, these aimed at the ballistic Dalmatian, seared into the wall of the compartment, missing Weenie by inches and doing much more severe damage to the ceramic coated cobalt steel alloy of the vessel than they would have to the wall of the corridor. Weenie hit Commander Otto on her shoulder, spinning her around violently, causing her pistol to point away from Claire and saving the commander’s life in the process. As she spun, a knife, black as sin, fluttered through the air where her face had been a split second before and buried itself to the hilt in a computer display. The display, as if in acknowledgement of the high drama of the situation, rose to the occasion and spewed forth a shower of sparks and smoke.
Before Commander Otto could bring the pistol to bear at anyone again, Claire grabbed it with both hands and twisted it away. Roger halted the action by placing his razor sharp sabre against the commander’s throat.
“Like it?” he asked nodding at the sabre. “It’s new.”
Claire looked at the knife in the computer screen and then at Nick who stood in the doorway, a look of naked hostility on his face.
“Whoa, cowboy,” Claire said softly to her brother. “No need to go all commando on us, there. Calm down. It’s all under control.” She did a double take as the knife vanished from the screen and reappeared in Nick’s hand. It disappeared again, just as quickly. Nick had the decency to look abashed. “Cool toy, Nicky,” she said. “You need to work on your one-liners, Roger,” she added as she turned back to Commander Otto and the snarky Irishman holding her at sabre-point. “It’s new? Seriously?”
“Pirates are hanged, Claire,” spat Commander Otto. “You hear me? You’ll all hang!”
“Can we turn down the gravity for that?” she asked rhetorically.
Claire surveyed the familiar metal room, looking for some way to restrain the commander without having to hurt her. She paused in thought. Amanda and Nick entered the room, closing the door behind them and making the space seem very cramped. Claire considered sending Commander Otto into the hallway from whence they came, where she couldn’t open any doors, but discarded the idea because she could still get lost, harassed by the cleaning robot and rat parade and could call the elevator. Maybe she could dump her behind another door like she did with the mutinous chief engineer?
“Maybe we could lock her in one of those pet carriers she had Spanky cooped up in?” Roger mused aloud. On their last trip to the Ramses, Claire and Roger had stolen/rescued a psychic alien monkey lizard from the cargo bay where he had been imprisoned in a moveable cage.
“Nah,” said Claire. “We would have to get her to the cargo bay without being seen or stopped. “Which reminds me,” she added and started navigating though menus on the computer. It didn’t take long until she had the exit to the command deck locked and the door password changed.
“We could just push her out,” suggested Amanda as she curiously fingered an emergency flashlight in a bracket on the wall. With the press of a button it came loose in her hand and she tested it then shoved it in her backpack.
“Are you nuts?” asked Roger rhetorically. “She’s the bleeding captain. We can’t just let her out of this room to run amok. She’d be the end of us all.”
“I meant out of the ship. To commune with the stars,” Amanda clarified. Roger was shocked by Amanda’s bloodthirsty suggestion but decided she didn’t really mean it. “Into space,” Amanda clarified unnecessarily, looking like she really meant it. “Without a suit.” She picked up a semicircular piece of thin metal that looked a little like headphones but had no ear pieces or wires.
“Tempting,” Nick said, playing along.
“I’m on board with that. Let’s space the hag,” said Nick rather viciously.
“Hey!” said Claire, appalled by the apparent callousness of her friends. “Roger, go open the door to the hallway,”
“You know I can’t, gingernut,” Roger growled. “It’d just be the spacesuit closet or whatever.”
“I didn’t forget. Just open the door.”
Roger seemed reluctant to take his sword away from Commander Otto’s throat, but after a few seconds, he did and opened the emergency suit storage locker to reveal two space suits hanging from hooks like creepy alien skins. Claire appraised the space inside and Commander Otto. She reached in and removed one suit, which she draped over a console. This left enough room that maybe Otto would fit. But it would be a tight squeeze. Commander Otto looked at her with swiftly dawning horror.
“Just a sec,” broke in Amanda. Everyone paused. “What’s this?” she asked, holding up the piece of metal.
“Bluetooth privacy bubble,” responded the captain.
“What’s it do?” asked Amanda.
“Are you serious?” replied Commander Otto incredulously. “Have you been living under a rock? You connect it to your personal device and it lets you make calls or listen to music or whatever through a focused field. You’ve seriously never heard of one?”
Claire and Roger rolled their eyes in near unison.
“In you go, Julie,” she said, pleasantly, prodding the commander in the back with her hand.
“You can’t be serious,” said the commander in horrified understanding.
“As a heart attack,” replied Claire, still pleasant and continuing to gently push the reluctant officer toward the little closet.
“Woof,” agreed Weenie, less pleasantly. Amanda eyed the odd headset for a second, shrugged and shoved it in her bag.
It was a tight squeeze for the captain, as anticipated, but it didn’t take very long or many threats of violence before Commander Otto was safely ensconced in the storage locker.
“How are we going to lock it?” asked Amanda eyeing the door latch skeptically. Claire pulled out her wand and tapped the latch. Blue light limned the door for a few seconds and faded. Amanda tried the door and it wo
uldn’t budge.
“Cute trick,” she said appreciatively.
“Can she breathe in there?” asked Roger.
“First you villains want to space the poor lady and now you’re worried she can’t breathe?” responded Claire sarcastically. “There’s a space suit in there with an O2 supply. If she can’t figure that out for herself, too bad.” Roger shrugged. Amanda and Nick both appeared unconcerned.
“Alright,” said Claire with the air of someone starting a meeting. “Step one is complete. Now we wait. I have no idea how Connix follows me, but if he comes to this world he shouldn’t be able to get at us in space. If he just pops in, he’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise. Assuming dragons need to breathe air, that is.”
“So, we’re just going to hang out here, waiting for something to happen?” asked Amanda, not pleased with the idea.
“We will wait a little while, yeah,” agreed Claire. “If Connix fails to show, which my money is on, then we can use this as our base of operations, so let’s stop poking holes in stuff,” she looked pointedly at Nick and Roger, “and looting everything that isn’t nailed down,” a glance to Amanda. “I’ll have to stay here most of the time, unfortunately. But you guys will be free to move about without worrying about that dragon.”
“Gives us a little breathing room, anyway,” said Nick. He ostentatiously sheathed his sword. Amanda closed her bag and crossed her arms.
“As long as the poxy reactor isn’t banjaxed again,” said Roger. “I don’t fancy glowing in the dark or growing an extra head.”
Amanda started examining the computer consoles and found the remote camera feeds. She cycled through some of them, looking at the different compartments and the crewmembers going about their business. She pulled up a menu and started playing solitaire.
Claire was lost in thought for a moment. Everyone else moved about the little command deck, exploring and trying not to set the self-destruct by accident. Weenie curled up under a cabinet and took a nap.
“Hey, guys,” said Claire. Everyone turned to look at her expectantly, except Weenie who continued to snooze. “There’s no need for all of us to wait for Connix to not show up. Nick, you and Amanda aren’t wanted arsonists in the Halloween world. Maybe you two could go see if you can find the Eye of Connix and bring it back here.”
“Halloween world?” asked Amanda. “Arsonists?”
“Where would we look?” asked Nick.
“First place to look would be the witch’s house,” said Roger. “Might have to sift through some embers. We burned down half the bleeding town and those chancy natives probably got the other half. Take Weenie with you. He can show you where that pikey cailleach was last.”
“Wait a sec, Claire,” said Amanda. “Gadding about with your crazy Irishman is one thing. At least he has a sword. And a cute accent. But you want me to go to another world with nothing but a little kid and a dog? This doesn’t sound safe, if you ask me.”
Claire grinned and ruffled Nick’s hair playfully. “My brother has more experience surviving in these crazy places than anyone here. He has a surprising skill set. And Weenie has battled werewolves. You’re in good hands. And paws.”
Weenie stood up and stretched and yawned. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. He shook himself and licked Amanda’s hand. He looked at the door. “Woof,” he said, for all the world like he understood everything they had said.
“Plus, Weenie is smarter than Roger,” added Claire.
Roger growled at Claire, then barked at Weenie. Weenie looked at the crazy Irishman passively, unamused by his antics. The black knife appeared and disappeared from Nick’s hand as they left. On their way out, nobody noticed when Amanda bent down and picked something up from the floor. They didn’t even have to let Commander Otto out of the suit storage locker to use the door. When Claire opened it, the mysterious corridor was there, waiting for them.
_______________________________
A bright red firetruck rumbled across the barren, burning wastes, totally inadequate for the job of putting out the fire of an entire planet. A smoky, dusty plume followed their progress through the hellish landscape of dry, ashy dust and baked, burning rock. They were leaving random splotches of tacky spots of melting rubber on the rock as they passed. Ahead, a dragon meandered lazily through the sulfurous air, no destination apparent. Inside the truck, the air conditioning was cranked to max and the twins were much more comfortable than the last time they followed Connix across this barren world. The stereo blared the Deadpool soundtrack on an endless loop. “Careless Whisper” was playing. The twins weren’t sure how to shut it off.
The woman nudged the man who was staring into space and half-heartedly singing along as he drove slowly through nightmare-scape. He jumped, startled, then grinned sheepishly. She ignored his discomfort and pointed at the distant dragon, who had finally begun to move with purpose. The man turned the wheel to follow and floored the accelerator. On the dash, a needle crept close to an “E.” Oblivious to the fuel needs of firetrucks, and a good many other things, the twins roared on, now both singing along with George Michael.
Up ahead, the speck of airborne reptilian violence performed its familiar suicide plunge to elastic earth and the man urged the truck on towards the exact spot so they, too, could translate to more hospitable climes. As George Michael faded out, The Chordettes started in on Mr. Sandman
_______________________________
Roger was amusing himself by tapping on the closet door, seeing if he could get a response from Commander Otto. Claire was watching the outside camera feeds and the 3D LIDAR display, looking for any sign that a dragon may have materialized in outer space. Her book, Intermediate Wand Magic, lay open on the computer console where she had left it after she grew tired of studying it. From inside the locker, muffled yelling and thumping could be heard. So far, nobody had tried to get into the command deck, but there was no way that was going to continue.
“What did you mean about Amanda knows kung fu, earlier?” asked Roger curiously, while continuing to torture the commander in the box.
“She does MMA,” Claire responded absently. “I think she has a couple of black belts or something.”
“MMA?”
“Mixed martial arts. Cage fighting type stuff.”
“Fierce,” said Roger approvingly and knocked on the door again. “Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”
“Cut it out, Rog,” Claire said to Roger without taking her eyes off the screens she was studying. “No need to torture her. What did she ever do to you?”
Roger stared at her for a second, incredulous. “What did she ever do to me? Besides try to shoot me with creepy orange laser bolts? That was like two hours ago, love. What about last time we came a knocking? She tried to turn us inside out by cutting in here and exposing us to bleeding space! Oy, like a bag of weasels, that one.” He kicked the door, then obligingly moved away from it and stood beside Claire. “Find anything interesting out there, redser?”
“That depends on what you find interesting, Roger. If you like looking at black darker than the souls of the Irish, then yeah, loads of interesting stuff out there.”
“Says the one what has two demonic eyes and once pushed some little old lady down a well,” came Roger’s rejoinder. Claire grimaced at the memory of “Auntie Ginger” and her well-deserved well mishap. Pun intended.
“Technically, it was Weenie that pushed her into the well. No thanks to you. You were asleep. My hero.”
Roger grunted at the verbal jab. He opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something pithy and scathing, but was interrupted by the all too familiar wailing of the ship-wide alarm.
“What’s that, then? Not another bloody radiation alarm?” he asked, looking around for some clue as to what was causing the klaxon and flashing red lights. Claire studied the outside camera feeds but could see nothing. She slapped the console in frustration. “Try the inside ones, then,” Roger suggested and Claire dutifully started cycling through camera feeds of pe
ople running to battle stations and scenes of panic and projects abandoned midway through. Someone was denied entry by the locked door to the command deck and started beating on it and yelling for admittance. Claire got to the feed from the remembered shuttle bay and stopped, staring at the screen in horror. Roger swore. Connix was in the shuttle bay and he was not happy.
CHAPTER SIX: The Living Dead
“There is no story that can’t be improved by adding zombies.”
- Kelley Armstrong
Amanda and Nick were searching the drab grey, enigmatic sterility of the hallway for one particular door. Neither of them knew exactly what it looked like. They were following Weenie, who was also confused. The doorways had a disconcerting habit of migrating. Nick was pretty sure that some doors vanished from time to time. New doors were always manifesting themselves. It was creepy and although Nick didn’t like it, he understood it as much as it was possible for him to understand it. Sometimes the hallway was helpful. Doors that were used more often tended to drift closer to the elevator. But Nick didn’t think the hallway was helpful at all. It tried to trap you, to trick you into going into doors you wouldn’t want to enter. And then there was the robostrocity and the entourage of vermin. Nick was starting to get a bad feeling about this. At least he was being paired up with Amanda, who was pretty dang cool. Nick was also starting to notice that Amanda was kind of hot.
