A Walk Between Stars

by Tyler Parsons

  The captain jerked around, motioning with his arms.

  I didn’t hang around to see if that worked or not, but I got the feeling it did.

  I went back to the alcove. I figured I only had a few minutes to prepare, so I had to hurry.

  I crouched in the alcove. There was a gap between two of the ducts that formed the wall that I could easily see through—in the direction of the airlock.

  So, when the captain crested over the hull of the ship he was clearly visible, silhouetted by the stars.

  He wore nothing but a helmet and four matching knee pads.

  What? No suite?

  Their hard-shelled skin must be able to withstand the vacuum of space.

  He’s gonna be tougher than I thought. Not good.

  Instead of floating and pulling himself along, he walked upright along the ships hull. He must be using burrs on the ends of his feet strategically placed in holding areas along the ship.

  Could he have any more advantages over me?

  I held very still as he approached.

  When he was less than two meters away, he stopped and slowly swayed back and forth. Was this motion part of his predatory instincts? I didn’t know.

  While the Captain prepared to pounce on me, I was ready to pounce on him. My tether was hooked into the ship’s hull just inside the alcove. The longest sharpest screwdriver from my tool pouch was in one hand, my laser torch in the other, and Quinn’s corpse was tied up just outside the alcove as a decoy.

  I was gambling that our space suits were similar enough that Quinn could pass for me. His feet were tethered down, so he would appear to be standing. I stood him facing away from the airlock.

  The Captain skirted the remaining paces ending at the mouth of the alcove, just behind my decoy.

  I can’t believe he’s falling for it.

  He lunged, grabbing Quinn violently, tearing his feet from the hull, and lifting him above his head.

  I pushed against the back of the alcove and flew at the Captain’s torso screaming, “Die bug!”

  I hit him hard. He rocked back slightly, but held his ground. The torch ripped free from my grip, but I maintained control of the screwdriver. I stabbed at his torso. His callus skin deflected the attack. It was like body armor.

  I was frozen in my tackling stance, head to the side of his torso, arm around him, facing his legs. There was a crack across my back. I tried to twist to get a better view. Quinn’s body was on me, being slammed from above repeatedly.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  “Ahhh,” I gasped as the last strike pushed me hard into the ship and the screwdriver flew free.

  I tried to twist again, and push with my arms and legs against the ship, but as I did, I felt the vice like grip of the captain wrap around my chest from behind. His sharp digits pinched into my suit, the pressure digging into my chest and sides, prying between my ribs.

  I kicked a leg back, trying to throw him off balance, but my effort didn’t faze him. I tried to find leverage, but his grip was so tight and painful, I felt like I was just flailing ineffectively. I couldn’t think strait.

  He opened a channel.

  “Where is the knife?” he squawked. “Tell me, or I will squeeze the life from you and toss you free of my ship.”

  His pincers pressed harder into my sides.

  I saw the torch float by, skidding along the hull. I stretched, and it hit my palm. Instantly I ignited it and tried to point it up behind me, but I did not have the angle to make a safe strike.

  I bent forward with all my weight. The Captain shifted a leg.

  His knee. That’s my target.

  I ran the laser across the closest knee pad. The white brace singed and a visible hiss of gas spewed out.

  My efforts had an immediate affect. The Captain released me. I gasped and rolled forward. When I turned, he was grasping his knee, trying to hold the knee gear on I supposed.

  The knee exploded. Not just the knee pad, the entire joint blew out, severing the lower half of the leg.

  What?

  I heard some painful clicking hums from the Captain, but none of it was translated.

  “Yeah!” I hooted, still gasping.

  It was no time to rest. I pushed myself up, wedged my feet down, and pushed off towards the Captain again.

  Let’s see if he can hold his ground now.

  He couldn’t. I hit him and we both flew off the ship. He clawed at me as my tether stretched further out. I was ready this time, I held the torch tight. Before we reached the end of the tether, I flicked the torch on, and pressed it into his abdomen. He released his grip.

  More screeching clicks rang in my helmet.

  I twisted as best I could, and as my tether pulled me back, I kicked off of the captain’s flailing body.

  I drifted back towards the ship, while he continued outward. As he reached the outer limits of the inertial negation field, an arm tore free and vanished in a blur. The black gore that spewed from the wound funneled to a spot further out and it vanished too. A fraction of a second later, his upper torso blurred out of existence, followed by his legs. Nothing of him remained.

  I pulled myself to the airlock. The suit showed zero percent on my filter. I didn’t know how long I had. I was feeling ill, and a bit dizzy, but I was hoping it was caused by my overexertion and nearly being squeezed to death.

  Several Manti were crowded just beyond the airlock.

  I opened the channel.

  “The Captain is dead,” I hissed.

  They just stood there. I wasn’t sure they could hear me. Were they still enforcing communication silence.

  “He’s dead,” I said. “Dead, dead, dead.”

  Nothing.

  “Get Steward. He can explain everything.”

  Nothing.

  “Please?” I pleaded. “I’m dying.”

  Nothing. Jeez!

  I pounded my fist on the port window.

  “Tech Four?” Stewards voice came.

  The helmeted Manti parted, revealing Steward’s big head. He pressed against the window.

  “Steward!”

  “Yes friend” He said, and I swear I saw him smile before I blacked out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When I awoke, I was tethered back inside my alcove.

  I glanced down and patted my chest. Two new carbon dioxide filters were installed there.

  “Steward?” I opened a channel.

  A shadow crossed the alcove’s entrance. A helmeted Manti stepped around the corner.

  I pushed back, with a start, deeper into the alcove.

  “Tech Four,” Steward called. “It is I.”

  Good Lord. It was him.

  The new captain brought me up on criminal proceedings, according to Steward, for all the vandalism to the ship. I was unconscious at the time, but even if I hadn’t been, I would not have been allowed to testify on my own behalf.

  Sounds fair.

  Stewards testimony, along with the dagger and blood evidence, was enough to grant me a pardon.

  “The new Captain has even agreed to forgive your debt,” Steward said.

  “What debt? For the damage?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “you were pardoned of that”.

  “For what then?”

  “Your transport:” he answered with a tilt of the head, “fuel, water, food, engineering and medical services.”

  What?

  “For real?” I laughed. “You guys were charging me for that?”

  “Your people,” he said, “yes.”

  Figures.

  Steward squatted down and reached for me with a long multi-pincered forearm. His touch was remarkably light and gentle on my leg. I stared at him, and placed my hand on top of his. He tapped my leg. I looked down and he tapped the sequence again.

  Friend.

 

 

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