by Anna Wu
Chapter 37: Two Down
Sheen sprawled himself onto the ground and crawled as quickly and quietly as he could back to his rocket. The Yolkians weren't too far off in the distance, he guessed maybe one hundred and fifty meters. The ship was even further out. But this asteroid was filled with holes to hide in and rocks to duck behind. They wouldn't see him coming. He came to a stop next to the pile of guns on the ground.
Sheen needlessly counted the guns over once again. One rifles, six shotguns, and twenty-nine pistols. Nearly all of the guns he had packed during the chaos on Little Boy had survived the impact. A few had been lost in space as his ship was pummeled and sent spiraling by the asteroids, but the vast majority lay in front of him, fully loaded.
He suddenly realized that he had a problem. He had a lot of guns, but no way to carry them. "There's always a snag," he muttered while looking behind him. The Yolkians were moving off farther into the distance, still hovering at a leisurely pace.
Sheen closed his eyes and thought. Think, think. What would Jimmy do? He continued to concentrate for a moment before opening his eyes. "He'd look around and figure out a way to use the few supplies that he's got."
Sheen quickly glanced around his camp. He knew that he didn't have much time. The Yolkian ship could lift off any minute. And he had to be sure that he was on it. The thoughts of rescue were numbing his pain, adrenaline heightening his senses. Being left behind on this rock was not an option. It was hijack that ship or die trying.
Sheen noticed that the scraps of his bags were still on the ground. They might suffice as rope. "Getting something," he whispered while closing his eyes and concentrating. "Brain blast!" He whispered as loud as he dared. He immediately clapped his hands over his mouth and looked around, frightened. "I hope Jimmy doesn't have that copyrighted," he nervously muttered.
Ignoring the legal battle that would soon come, he focused on the fight at hand. He got up off of his stomach and kneeled on the ground. He pulled a pile of a dozen pistols towards him. He put six in his waistband. He then grabbed all the strips of cloth that he could. He tied three of the strips together and made a makeshift rope long enough to wrap twice around his leg. He took three other strips and repeated this.
Sheen grabbed another pistols and clamped it onto the front of his right leg with one hand. Struggling to keep it in place, he tied one of the ropes over the gun and around his leg. He then grabbed another pistol and stuck it in between the rope and the back of his leg. He tied two more pistols onto his left leg.
Sheen rummaged through the wreckage of his rocket and found one of the backpack's straps that go over the shoulders. He tied a shotgun to the back of this strap and hung the strap over his shoulder. The shotgun dangled loosely and clanged against his back, but it didn't break free of the strap. He took the strap back off and placed it on the ground. He grabbed the rest of his rope and tied two pistols to the bottom of the shotgun.
Sheen desperately looked around for any more cloth that could be used as rope, but there was none. It had either been lost in space or inadvertently kicked from the camp by Sheen. "Doesn't matter," he told himself while grabbing boxes of ammo and magazines. He jammed as many as he could into his pockets. "I guess this is good enough."
Sheen grabbed one last box of 9mm bullets and clenched it in his teeth. This is it, he subconsciously told himself. This is a real fight. Not capture the flag, not laser tag, not a training exercise. It's win or die out here.
It felt odd to be acting so serious. Where was the old Sheen? He would be hopping around and running straight into battle, guns waving. Maybe I'm finally growing up, he thought. The idea was met with both joy and sorrow. It had to happen sometime. He was fourteen years old, two years older than most of his peers. He had been through more in the past three days than most people would in their lives. And now he was about to fight his first real fight.
Just focus. Screw my ADHD. My adrenaline will be my medication. Act serious. No jokes, no games. Does Ultralord get all twitchy and jumpy in the heat of battle? He asked himself. No. He focuses on the fight at hand, knowing that each one may be his last. I'll make him proud.
There was no more time for thinking. He had to get to the Yolkians before they got back to their ship and left him here to die. Even in his adrenaline-induced state, he could still feel his throat burning from dehydration, his stomach begging for food. He wouldn't last much longer on this rock.
He took one last look at himself before heading off. He was shirtless, his chest stained with dried blood. His buzz cut had grown out enough to fall over his forehead. He had a rifle clenched in both hands and a shotgun hanging over his back. He carried twelve pistols and two boxes of ammunition in his pockets. A box of pistol ammunition was clenched in his teeth, the box it came in dented and covered in his spit. He had grabbed half a dozen fully loaded magazines and shoved those into his pockets as well. Four were pistol magazines and two were for his rifle.
Let's do this, he thought while ducking down and crawling as fast as he could to the Yolkians.
The two Yolkians hovered across the barren asteroid in near silence. Only the whirring of their electronic shells pierced the silence. Suddenly, a beeping emanated from a small device one of the Yolkians was holding.
"This is it," he said while reading the alien signals quickly scrolling across the screen.
"How much farther must we hover? My thrusters yearn for a rest," Jakar, the other Yolkian, answered.
The Yolkian with the device in his hand let out a shrill squeak, the alien equivalent of a laugh. "Your thrusters are fine. It is half of a magnar that way," he answered while pointing straight ahead. Magnar was just one of the many Yolkian words that the aliens used in addition to rough English.
"Why did King Goobot send us to the outskirts of our system?" Jakar asked while following the other Yolkian as he pulled ahead of him.
"You know the reason," Kraka, the other Yolkian, answered. "This asteroid belt has the highest concentration of rubies this side of Wingok."
"We should not be here," Jakar reminded his friend. "These mining expeditions worry me."
Kraka let out a shrill squeak. "You have fought the pirates of Vandor and retrieved the crystal from the bowels of Zirion. Yet this barren rock frightens you?"
"I feel what I feel," Jakar simply answered.
"Feeling or no, we must continue. The king demands it," Kraka responded, a hint of anger and contempt creeping into his voice.
Jakar looked around; making sure that none of the crew from the ship had followed him and Kraka out onto the rock. "Kraka, you know as well as I that Goobot is not fit to rule our great Empire."
Kraka continued moving forward without missing a beat, but his eyes glanced towards his friend, intrigued. "You should watch what you say. Those words are heresy," he calmly reprimanded Jakar. "His right to rule was given by the divine Poultra."
Jakar reach ahead of him and yanked on Kraka's arm. They both stopped. "My words of discontent are paled by the king's heresy."
Kraka's eyes glowed, a sign of curiosity. "What heresy has the king committed?"
Jakar looked around once more and began hovering forward once more. "He failed to secure Poultra's crop. What greater heresy could there be?"
"That was over four cycles ago," Kraka responded. "You must learn to forget."
"Why?" Jakar asked. "If you or I had failed to secure the crop, we would have been fed to Poultra instead. Yet the king goes unpunished. It was unprecedented. He should have been dethroned."
Kraka thought Jakar's words over while continuing to hover along. "The king is the law. He may break it if he wishes. It is not the first time a ruler has twisted our rules," he said with a shrug.
Jakar came to a stop once again. He spun around and faced Kraka, his eyes blazing with anger. "Yes, but the crop was not lost in an unforeseeable mishap. The crop's offspring fought back, Kraka. And won. Do you understand the ludicrousness of that? The humans found our home world, rescued the crop, and
brought them back to their planet. The offspring did all of this! Human children bested Goobot and his elite warriors. It is simply unacceptable!"
Kraka stared at his friend and slowly nodded. They continued walking. "There is no argument to your point. The king's failure was great. But he is still the king. Perhaps he shall fare better with the next crop. Only eight cycles remain until the ceremony begins."
Jakar huffed in disbelief. "I am not the only soldier who feels this way about the king. Unrest is brewing in the advising council. I feel that a rebellion is imminent. Their numbers are large; they might defeat the elite guards."
Kraka's usually loyal mind began to think of the rebels destroying Goobot. It could create chaos and a pandemic. Murder of the king, rebellion of the council, it was unheard of. But Goobot's reign had been anything but normal. Perhaps a change was needed.
"All I know," Jakar continued, "is that I would like to get my hands on one of the escaped crop. Or their liberators. I would like to show them what a true Yolkian warrior could do."
As if on cue, three loud bangs resonated throughout the canyon the Yolkians were passing through. One bullet whizzed by Kraka, but the other two hit their target. One of the bullets smashed the glass shield, and the other hit the bottom of the Yolkian's casing. Sparks spewed out, and the Yolkian shell dropped to the ground and fell on its side. Kraka spilled out of the cracked glass onto the ground.
"What was that?" Kraka shouted. He slowly crawled towards Jakar, leaving a slimy trail behind him..
"I do not know," Jakar answered while pressing a button on his shell's control panel. A circle the size of a doorknob opened and a metal rod ejected itself into Jakar's waiting hand. Jakar pressed several buttons on the metal rod, and it extended three feet. A sharp tip on the end revealed itself, and it began to glow. Small crackles of lightning danced across its razor-sharp edges. It was the Yolkian's primary weapon, an electrified spear.
Jakar's eyes squinted as he scanned the area around him. He saw no enemies, Yolkian or otherwise. There were dozens of rock outcroppings, the hostile could be anyway. He clenched his spear tighter and waited for the adversary to show itself. Suddenly another bang echoed through the canyon, and Jakar fell motionless onto the ground. He noticed a smoking hole in his control panel. Sparks danced from it, and there were small puffs of smoke billowing out. He tried to move, but his suit was useless. He was trapped inside a motionless shell.
"What now?" Kraka asked while finally reaching Jakar. Beads of orange liquid appeared on his green body, sweat from having to crawl the five feet. Yolkians were not meant to travel without their suits.
Jakar was about to answer, but he noticed movement in front of him. In the distance, a lone biped was walking towards him. He struggled to think of all the enemy races that the Yolkians had fought, trying to identify the creature. His mind kept coming back to one species, but he kept shaking the thought aside. "Impossible," he muttered in anger.
Sheen emerged from the shadows and walked up to the two fallen Yolkians. His normal grin was replaced by a deadly serious expression. This is the real deal, he told himself while walking up to them. Just like a video game. Keep my eyes peeled, stay alert, and don't fool around. Otherwise I'll lose.
Sheen held his rifle in front of him, aimed on the Yolkian still encased in its shell. He noticed the glowing spear clutched in its right hand. It was armed, and as far as he knew, dangerous. Sheen gripped the butt of the rifle and lifted it over his head. "AHHH!" he screamed while slamming the heavy gun into the Yolkian's armor. It cracked and fell onto the ground in dozens of pieces. The spear hit the ground and immediately retracted back into the small steel rod that Jakar had pulled out of his suit.
Sheen suddenly froze and looked around, realizing that his shout had probably alerted nearby enemies. He aimed his gun ahead and quickly moved around in a circle, peeling his eyes for any sign of danger. After three rotations around the fallen Yolkians, he let out a sigh of relief and put the rifle down on the ground.
"What are you…?" Kraka asked as his eyes widened in fear. Sheen was quickly advancing upon him. He only had time to utter those three words before Sheen slammed his hand into the thick mass of green goo in between the Yolkian's eyes. Sheen moved his hand around inside the Yolkian for a moment before touching a solid ball. Sheen clenched it as hard as he could and ripped it out of the Yolkian's body. It was Kraka's brain.
As soon as the brain was ripped from its body, the Yolkian froze. Its bright green goo rapidly dimmed and turned grey. The eyes sunk into the heap of goo that spread across the ground. The solid goo dispersed into a watery puddle.
Jakar's eyes widened in fear. Sheen knelt down beside the trembling heap of slime. The alien had never seen a fellow Yolkian eliminated so ruthlessly.
"Your ship," Sheen began while cracking his knuckles, "how many of you are there on it?" The Yolkian continued trembling and didn't say a word. "Answer me or you die like him!" Sheen shouted while shoving his hand into the Yolkian and gripping his hand around the creature's brain.
"Twelve!" Jakar immediately shouted. "Twelve! Three pilots, five crewmen, and four soldiers!"
Sheen smiled a little and pulled his hand out of the Yolkian, leaving the brain inside. He was about to stand up when he noticed the steel rod that was a retracted spear. He picked it up and fingered it. "How do I work it?" The Yolkian hesitated. Revealing their technology to an enemy race was a great crime. "How do I work it?" Sheen barked, louder.
"Press the buttons in the middle. Red, green, blue in that order. Then hold the red button down," Jakar answered. Sheen looked the rod over and found the buttons. "Point the end with the insignia towards you," Jakar continued.
Sheen pointed it towards him and was about to activate the weapon when he realized what the Yolkian was doing. He glared at the creature, and Jakar shrank back as he realized that he had been found out.
"I think I'll point it at you," Sheen said with an evil grin while flipping the device around and pressing the buttons. The spear extended three feet forward. The point at the end extended into the Yolkian. Jakar let out a scream of pain as the electrical current ran through him, burning his slime. After a moment Sheen could no longer take the pained screams. He retracted the spear and looked at the Yolkian. It's previously slimy body was now caked and cracked. Sheen slammed his fist into the creature, and it cracked into several pieces and fell onto the ground.
"Yeah, this might come in handy," Sheen muttered while retracting the spear and slipping it into his pocket. He grabbed his rifle, stood back up, and headed towards the Yolkian ship.
