filled the air with a drifting haze. He squirmed further, pushing aside piles of equipment held loosely together by webbing. He soon peered out of a new spot, and from this vantage point he was aligned with the hatch. He could see the dim shape of Captain Beezel up there, sitting in the pilot’s chair. When she moved, she did so oddly. It was difficult to see clearly from his position, but he thought she had more than two appendages reaching out to touch the control screen. Could that be…?
Yes. S omething was riding on her back. A wavering, finger-thick antennae extended over her shoulder to tap at the controls. Theller felt a sick chill of fear run through him.
A loud clang sounded then, which caused him to look this way and that at the curved skin of the ship that surrounded him. He felt the ship shudder, as if it had made contact with another, larger body. Something was outside. Could it be another alien? Something bigger, perhaps?
The airlock groaned and a tortured shriek of twisted metal reached Theller’s ears. His breath came in labored gasps. He looked back to see what Captain Beezel was doing. He stared in disbelief for a second or two—she wasn’t there. He looked around, twisting his head, but saw nothing. Then he looked directly upward.
There, on the ceiling above him, was the Captain. She was clutching the hexagonal ridges that formed interlocking panels in the aft cargo area. Like a spider, she hung up there, hugging the roof of the ship. The gravity was light, and the feat was not that surprising. What was surprising was her odd, predatory stance. She stared fixedly at the airlock hatch with an intense light in her eyes.
It was the thing on her back, however, that almost drove Theller mad when he saw it. Part giant scorpion, part weevil in appearance, it was clinging to her, like an ape-child riding its protective mother’s back. Tapping antennae waved high overhead with feathery fronds at the tips. The sectional tail wrapped around her midsection, holding on tight.
Theller vomited slightly. He gulped and gasped. He squirmed under the cargo webbing and choked as he aspirated acidic juices. Captain Beezel’s eyes flicked down and her overlarge blue orbs met his.
He knew then that he was lost. This horror was beyond all imagining, and he would surely die at the captain’s small, claw-like hands within moments.
Captain Beezel lifted one arm then, and he winced, but no sudden blow came. Instead, she put a single finger to her lips. Was she shushing him? He felt fuzzy and lightheaded, as if he dreamed. He thought about the narcotic wine he’d foolishly passed up. He wished the bottle was in reach now—he would guzzle it all if he got the chance again.
Obediently, Theller quieted his breathing as best he could. He wanted to scream, to shout until he went hoarse, but he resisted the urge. Captain Beezel returned her eyes to the airlock hatch, and crept forward on the ceiling. She did not move as a normal human would have done. Her limbs flexed together in odd, jerky motions. Theller was reminded distinctly of a crawling insect.
The airlock hatch buckled. A thrusting triangular dent appeared, pressing into the ship’s cabin. A rivet sprung loose, caromed off the walls and finally rattled onto the deck plates.
There was a moment of quiet, then the hatch burst open. A small object was tossed inside. Instinctively, Theller squeezed his eyes shut. A flash exploded with a booming sound. Brilliant glare filled the room momentarily. It must have been a flash grenade, meant to blind and stun the occupants. Theller opened his eyes again just in time to see an avalanche of hulking figures enter the ship. He blinked away the purple splotches that drifted over his vision.
The huge men had to be Mendelians. They could not stand erect in the cabin, but rather bent over at the waist. Theller knew an entirely new sense of despair. Even if he survived the alien and Captain Beezel, these men were not known for
Yes. S omething was riding on her back. A wavering, finger-thick antennae extended over her shoulder to tap at the controls. Theller felt a sick chill of fear run through him.
A loud clang sounded then, which caused him to look this way and that at the curved skin of the ship that surrounded him. He felt the ship shudder, as if it had made contact with another, larger body. Something was outside. Could it be another alien? Something bigger, perhaps?
The airlock groaned and a tortured shriek of twisted metal reached Theller’s ears. His breath came in labored gasps. He looked back to see what Captain Beezel was doing. He stared in disbelief for a second or two—she wasn’t there. He looked around, twisting his head, but saw nothing. Then he looked directly upward.
There, on the ceiling above him, was the Captain. She was clutching the hexagonal ridges that formed interlocking panels in the aft cargo area. Like a spider, she hung up there, hugging the roof of the ship. The gravity was light, and the feat was not that surprising. What was surprising was her odd, predatory stance. She stared fixedly at the airlock hatch with an intense light in her eyes.
It was the thing on her back, however, that almost drove Theller mad when he saw it. Part giant scorpion, part weevil in appearance, it was clinging to her, like an ape-child riding its protective mother’s back. Tapping antennae waved high overhead with feathery fronds at the tips. The sectional tail wrapped around her midsection, holding on tight.
Theller vomited slightly. He gulped and gasped. He squirmed under the cargo webbing and choked as he aspirated acidic juices. Captain Beezel’s eyes flicked down and her overlarge blue orbs met his.
He knew then that he was lost. This horror was beyond all imagining, and he would surely die at the captain’s small, claw-like hands within moments.
Captain Beezel lifted one arm then, and he winced, but no sudden blow came. Instead, she put a single finger to her lips. Was she shushing him? He felt fuzzy and lightheaded, as if he dreamed. He thought about the narcotic wine he’d foolishly passed up. He wished the bottle was in reach now—he would guzzle it all if he got the chance again.
Obediently, Theller quieted his breathing as best he could. He wanted to scream, to shout until he went hoarse, but he resisted the urge. Captain Beezel returned her eyes to the airlock hatch, and crept forward on the ceiling. She did not move as a normal human would have done. Her limbs flexed together in odd, jerky motions. Theller was reminded distinctly of a crawling insect.
The airlock hatch buckled. A thrusting triangular dent appeared, pressing into the ship’s cabin. A rivet sprung loose, caromed off the walls and finally rattled onto the deck plates.
There was a moment of quiet, then the hatch burst open. A small object was tossed inside. Instinctively, Theller squeezed his eyes shut. A flash exploded with a booming sound. Brilliant glare filled the room momentarily. It must have been a flash grenade, meant to blind and stun the occupants. Theller opened his eyes again just in time to see an avalanche of hulking figures enter the ship. He blinked away the purple splotches that drifted over his vision.
The huge men had to be Mendelians. They could not stand erect in the cabin, but rather bent over at the waist. Theller knew an entirely new sense of despair. Even if he survived the alien and Captain Beezel, these men were not known for
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