Chapter 4 - Space Rats

Chapter Four:
Space Rats

         The Beetle scuttled out of port after Squirrel bought supplies. It was Dallas’s turn to drive, but she was feeling too sick to move. Athenais came into her room, saw the bowl of vomit, cursed, and left her alone. Soon afterwards, the ship slid out of the dock under the captain’s command.
         About an hour into their journey, Dune came in carrying a slice of bread in one grease-stained hand and a cup of water in the other.
         “Capt’in says ya need this,” he said. He gave her a critical look. “How much’d you drink, girl?”
         “Three, four scotches,” Dallas replied with a groan. “I can’t remember.”
         “Smallfoot says he found ya drunker’n shit in the gamehall of The Shop. What the hell were ya doing there, Fairy? Tryin’ ta git kilt?”
         “Can’t remember,” Dallas said. She waved off the bread with a trembling hand. “I can’t eat that.”
         “Water’ll help, if ya can keep it down,” Dune insisted.
         “I can’t.”
         “Well, I’ll just leave them here for when you’re ready,” Dune said. He put the bread and water down on the nightstand beside her bed. The water-glass was smeared with black engine grease. When she looked closer, so was the bread. Dallas’s stomach churned and she quickly looked away.
         “I’ll be back ta check on ya in a bit,” Dune said. “You should really try ta drink the water.”
         “Not gonna happen.”
         Dune shrugged and left.
         Some time later—Dallas wasn’t sure how long because she kept her eyes firmly shut and slid in and out of sleep—Goat came in with a plate of food. The scent of roast beef mingled with his overpowering body odor and she vomited again.
         “We just finished dinner,” he told her, eyes on her bowl. “Guess you’re not ready, huh?”
         “No,” she managed. “Please…go.”
         Goat put the plate down and started to walk out.
         “We’re bound for Penoi?”
         Goat paused. “Yeah. Capt’in took ‘em up on it. Everybody’s grumblin, though. The colonists ain’t pledged a dime for our help. Dune and Squirrel tried to mutiny when Capt’in told ‘em.”
         “Squirrel tried to mutiny?” Squirrel was the last one Dallas would have pegged as a mutineer.
         “Yeah,” Goat said. He sat at the end of her bed. “Squirrel found out Capt’in really means to destroy the Potion. She’s only got a few years ‘till she’s due for another dose.”
         Dallas blinked. She hadn’t really thought the Captain could be serious about destroying the Millennium Potion. “You’re sure?”
         Goat gave her a frown. “’Course. Why else would she say it?”
         Dallas sat up and made her eyes focus through the dizziness. “You mean you knew she really wanted to destroy the Potion?”
         “’Course,” Goat said.
         Dallas squinted at him. “You do realize that means you won’t be able to live for more than another hundred years, right?”
         Goat shrugged. “I had my fun. ‘Sides, I don’t wanna take the Potion no more if they gotta kill colonists for it.”
         “What do you mean?” Dallas asked. Her stomach was doing flips and she had to lay back down. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she could keep herself from vomiting again.
         “Capt’in got us all together’n had the colonists tell us how they make the Potion. Come find out, they use colonists to grow more Potion. Gotta kill the colonists to get it. Paul said they’d been doin’ it all this time.” Goat looked down. “Even if we don’t get the Potion, I ain’t gonna take another dose. Reckon enough of ‘em died for me already.”
         Dallas was so stunned by this revelation that the memory hit her like a wrecking ball. She jerked, remembering overhearing the captain’s conversation with Ragnar.
         “Yeah,” Goat said, mistaking her reaction, “Was hard on me, too. Hard on everybody. Squirrel ‘n Dune don’t want it no more, neither, not after hearin that.”
         “What about Smallfoot?” Dallas asked.
         “Same, I guess. Kept to ‘imself all day. He’s still cranky from when Capt’in woke ‘im to patch her up after ‘nother fight with Ragnar.”
         “I’ll bet,” Dallas said. “He was lookin forward to the day off.” She grimaced. “Thanks. Tell the captain I’ll take over in a few hours.”
         “Yeah,” Goat said, standing. “Seeya then.” At that, he left her chamber, his heavy, booted steps reverberating down the hall as he went.
         Dallas got up a couple hours later and stumbled to the helm. The command room was quiet, with only Ragnar and Athenais at their posts. Ragnar gave Dallas a passing glance as she walked in and Athenais swung around to face her.
         “So,” the Captain said, “Finally up?”
         Dallas swallowed and nodded.
         “I’ve deducted a day’s worth of pay from your salary,” Athenais said. “While you were puking and feeling sorry for yourself, I was having to do your job and mine.”
         Dallas refrained from saying that Athenais’s job seemed to be nothing more than walking around and cursing.
         “So,” Athenais continued, “You’re feeling up to this? You won’t smash us into any debris-belts if I go off and take a nap?”
         “I’m feeling fine,” Dallas said. It was a lie, but she felt good enough to drive. Driving was easy. It was standing that was killing her.
         Athenais got up and gave Dallas her seat. She hovered nearby as Dallas went through the routine of checking gauges and engine output. When Dallas looked up, the Captain was giving her a hard look. “Still hungover? You need more time?” The look in Athenais’s eyes added, And another day’s worth of pay?
         “I feel better already,” Dallas said meekly.
         “You start vomiting, you come get me. I don’t wanna ram into something because you’re puking your guts out on my floor.”
         Dallas nodded weakly.
         Athenais turned on heel and strode from the command room.
         Pompous bitch, Dallas thought. Sighing, she went back to scanning the digital horizon for space-rock or other debris.
         This was a well-used trade path, so the space in between was relatively clear. Dallas fell into a familiar trance, shutting down her brain to everything except the controls. She could pass whole days in a trance like this, with time passing just as quickly as the space outside.
         She was jolted alert when the bright red PROXIMITY warning suddenly blared. Seconds later, Beetle lurched and started to slow. The roar that followed reminded her of ripping through atmosphere with a porthole open. Even as she began evasive maneuvers, Dallas wondered who was shooting.
         Behind her, the security doors flew open and someone came running inside.
         “I don’t know who it is!” Dallas cried, pulling Beetle out of the trade lane. “They were following us!”
         A hairy hand slipped past her and locked the helm doors. Even as Dallas was trying to comprehend that, something cold and hard pushed against the back of her skull.
         “Drop the stick, Fairy.”
         Dallas’s hands tightened stubbornly around the controls. She was gaining ground. In minutes, she would have so confused her pursuers that they would have to spend the next three hours trying to figure out where they were. She looped a few more times, backtracked, and did a ninety-degree turn that threatened her stomach despite the Beetle’s artificial gravity.
         “Come on, now. Don’t make me use this.” The cold metal tapped her skull insistently.
         Dallas released the controls and turned to look at Smallfoot, pointedly ignoring the weapon resting between her eyes. “You’re an agent?”
         He grinned, displaying perfect teeth. “I’m a pirate, just like you. Now stop the ship and let ‘em board.”
         Someone started pounding on the other side of the security door.
         Keeping his eyes on her, Smallfoot walked over to the emergency control panel and brought out the small key that Athenais kept with her at all time. With it, he unlocked the glass panel and flipped the switch that would fill the outside living compartments with sleeping gas.
         Outside, the pounding stopped, followed by a thud as something hit the ground.
         “I said, let ‘em board.”
         Dallas turned back to the controls and considered punching the security-door lock and letting the sleeping gas pour into the helm.
         “Don’t even think about it,” Smallfoot said.
         Frustrated, Dallas launched the sequence to initiate in-space boarding.
         “Good girl. Now go stand over there while I chat wi’ my friends.”
         Bristling, Dallas stood and walked over to the side wall, where she waited. Her hangover was gone, replaced with adrenaline and fury.
         Smallfoot sat down and opened a frequency between the Beetle and its attacker. He put the earphone against his head and laughed. “Why hello, fellahs. Yeah, they’re here. I recommen’ bio-suits for boardin, though. Might be a lil’ gas left over. What? No, that wasn’t me. A copilot. Naw, I din’ kill her.”
Smallfoot glanced at Dallas and grinned. “They wanna hire ya.”
         “Tell ‘em they already fired me once.”
         Smallfoot relayed her message and laughed at the reply. “We’re taking the energy charge from the main engine block,” he said, turning to her. “Ya can either come with us or die on Beetle.”
         The little hairs on Dallas’s neck lifted. “You’re gonna scuttle her? What about the others?”
         Smallfoot scoffed. “Goat’s a weeder, Squirrel is a uppity bitch, Dune would screw his machines if he could, and the Cap’in is dead.”
         Dallas’s heart spasmed. “You killed her?”
         “Couldn’t very well leave that one alive, now could I?” Smallfoot said. He laughed. “After all, I’m selling her precious shifter for three million credits. She wouldn’t take that very well, and we know how our Cap’in liked to hold a grudge.” He frowned at her. “So? Ya wanna come or stay?”
         If Athenais was dead, there was no one to fly the ship other than Dallas. Goat knew where to fly the ship, but not the how of it. If they were stranded, Squirrel could radio the Devil and get a response, but she didn’t know the first thing about flying. Dune could keep the engine running if the core itself failed, but he’d never touched any controls other than the steering-wheel of a dunebuggy.
         That left Dallas.
         But without the energy charge, Beetle wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. Squirrel had a better chance of radioing Hell to alert them that they were on their way.
         Dallas bit her lip. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want to leave her friends, either. Outside, the Beetle jolted as the Utopian ship joined with it and closed the seal.
         “Come on,” Smallfoot said. “It’s not a tough decision.”
         “I’m staying.”
         Smallfoot stared at her. “You’re as crazy as that bitch Cap’in.” He opened an emergency cubby and took out two flashlights. He tossed one at her. “Come on, then. Maybe yule change yer mind.”
         “I won’t,” Dallas said.
         “Maybe,” Smallfoot said, releasing the security-lock. “Butcha helped me earn six million credits, so I owe ya somethin.
         Dallas stared at him, suddenly realizing what she had done. “You’re here for the shifters.”
         “Yer a bright one. Bring yer light. We’re going ta engineering.”
         “Go yourself,” Dallas retorted.
         Smallfoot waved the gun in front of him. “See this? This says yer comin. If ya don’t, I’m shootin off a foot. Maybe a hand, too, ta keep ya busy. I’m sure as hell not leavin’ you ‘lone at the controls.”
         Dallas scowled and followed him.
         Dune was crumpled outside the entry. They had to step over him to enter the hall. It didn’t appear to Dallas that he was breathing.
         “He gonna be okay?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the mechanic.
         “He’s fine,” Smallfoot told her. “For now.”
         Dallas bit her lip, but a sound from the air-lock caught her attention. Blue-uniformed Utopi agents were pouring onto the ship, tasers in hand. They stopped and ordered Smallfoot to drop his weapon, but he laughed at them and pointed down the hall at the sleeping chambers with the muzzle of his pistol.
         “They’re in there,” he said, and motioned for Dallas to follow him down the stairs toward the mechanic’s haven.
         Despite its super-efficient drive system, the engine-room was warmer than the rest of the ship. Most people thought it was cozy, but Dallas always had that eerie feeling that maybe the heat was leaking radiation that was wreaking havoc on her body’s cells as she sat there enjoying the warmth. Because of this, she hated going to visit Dune.
         Dune had set up a new buggy in the center of the room, surrounded by tables filled with odds and ends that looked like junk to Dallas. Dune’s chair sat empty in one corner, the cushion worn and mashed flat with repeated applications of a grease-stained butt. A book was laying open on the seat, an instruction manual of some sort. No doubt on some new engine part.
         “In here,” Smallfoot said, walking past Dune’s personal alcove and into the main engine area. It was even warmer in here, with huge black pistons and rotors churning in the center of the room, powering everything from life-support to the kitchen oven. A bone-deep hum made her ear-drums hurt.
         “Turn on your light,” Smallfoot instructed as he pulled on a lead-reinforced glove. He stepped up to the engine block and pried up a lever from the looming mass of metal. He gripped the lever with his gloved fist and pulled.
         The lights went out.
         Dallas flipped on her flashlight in a panic.
         Dangling from Smallfoot’s gloved fist was a glowing blue ceramic cylinder.
         “Got it,” he said. He hefted his prize cheerfully and headed back toward the stairs.
         Dallas followed at a subdued distance, her mind reeling. Without a power supply, Beetle was crippled. There was no going back. She had pulled off the main travel-route in her attempt to thwart their attackers. They would drift undiscovered for years, maybe even centuries, before someone came and discovered them all frozen like Halloween popsicles.
         Back on the upper level, Smallfoot handed the ceramic cylinder to one of the Utopian agents who was waiting for it at the air-lock. The man hefted it, grinned at Smallfoot, and disappeared into the other ship.
         “Last chance,” Smallfoot said, pausing in the air-lock to look back at her.
         Dallas swung her light into the Beetle’s deserted hallway. Little specks of dust drifted in front of her flashlight’s beam. The place reminded her of a tomb.
         “I’m staying,” she said with more resolve than she felt.
         Smallfoot shrugged. “Your choice.” He started to turn, then paused, handing her the second flashlight. “You’ll need this,” he said, and stepped into the other ship. In moments, the two doors had shut and the air-lock sealed itself once more. The Beetle jolted as the Utopian vessel released it. There was a momentary rumble as the other ship’s engine powered up, and then nothing.
         Dallas sprinted back to where Dune was collapsed on the floor outside the command room. He was still in the exact same position she had left him.
Dallas knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. Dune was breathing, albeit shallowly. She shook him, hard.
         The mechanic grunted, sucked in a huge breath, and rolled onto his back, gasping. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Differentials’ll need work.”
         Dallas frowned at him and shone the flashlight into his eyes. “What are differentials?”
         Dune threw a grease-marked arm over his face and groaned. “What the hell’s going on? Who’s there? Get that blasted thing out of my face. Why’s it so dark?”
         “Smallfoot took the energy-core,” Dallas said. “Turned the colonists in to the Utopis.”
         Dune grunted and sat up. “Fairy?”
         Dallas nodded.
         “Where’s the Capt’in?”
         Dallas hesitated. “He said he killed her.”
         Dune scoffed. “That’d be the day. Help me up.”
         She pulled him to his feet and held him steady while he got his bearings. “He had a gun. I think he shot her.”
         “Prolly did,” Dune said. He took Dallas’s spare flashlight. “You go find the others. I’m gonna check the engine.” At that, he jogged off toward the stairs, leaving Dallas alone in the hall.
         Dallas turned toward the sleeping chambers with trepidation. Though she had worked for Athenais for twenty years and the Utopia for a hundred years before that, she had never actually seen a dead person before. She was not looking forward to the experience, since she was terrified of ghosts.
         Her first command had been haunted. It was the only reason that she had been able to get the post at such a young age with so little time in service. They had actually given her the ship as a punishment because it had driven its previous two commanders batty.
         Bloody Mary, as they had re-named it, had been absolutely and categorically haunted. For two horrible years, Dallas had endured apparitions, poltergeists, and strange whispering voices, all so she could continue to fly. Though she didn’t know exactly what had happened to the people who haunted the place, she was pretty sure that murder had been involved.
         Now her boots felt heavy as she made her way to the Captain’s apartments. It was the first room on the right. The door was open.
         Swallowing hard, Dallas peeked inside the room.
         Immediately, her headache was back. Gray and red mush was splattered over half the wall. Though she couldn’t see a body, she knew what that meant.
         Forcing down the urge to gag, Dallas ducked past Athenais’s room and pushed open Squirrel’s door.
         Squirrel, to her relief, had not been shot. She was laying in bed, her face slack with sleep. Apparently, they hadn’t needed to gas her. Not even Dallas’s erratic flying had woken her. Dallas slipped inside and shook Squirrel awake.
         “Dallas?” Squirrel asked, blinking up at her in confusion. “Comm down?”
         “Everything’s down,” Dallas informed her. “Smallfoot sold us out.”
         Squirrel sat up immediately. “Where’s the Captain?”
         “Dead,” Dallas said miserably.
         Squirrel snorted. “I’d like to see that.” Then she got up and started dressing. Dallas left the flashlight and waited in the hall outside.
         Squirrel came out with a flashlight of her own. She handed Dallas’s back to her and switched it on. As usual, she looked stunning. Well-dressed, her sleek designer clothes lacking a single wrinkle or snag, her short blonde hair fluffed-up to perfection. She did not look the least bit perturbed.
         “I’m gonna check on Goat,” Dallas said.
         “You do that,” Squirrel nodded. “Somebody needs me, I’m working on comm.” At that, she turned and walked away, not even pausing for a glance inside Athenais’s cabin.
         “Smallfoot took the core,” Dallas called after her.
         Squirrel waved a dismissive hand and disappeared around the corner.
         Dallas passed Smallfoot’s empty quarters and was about to put down her flashlight to pry open Goat’s door when it shuddered and moved. Goat stumbled into the hall, hair mussed and eyes puffy. If he had been smoking tanga-weed recently, the smell was masked by his overpowering body odor.
         “What’s with the lights?” Goat muttered, holding the side of his head.
         “Smallfoot sold us to the Utopis,” Dallas told him. “They took the power-core and all the colonists. Ragnar, too. And he killed the Captain.”
         Goat snorted and scratched himself. “He killed her, huh? ‘magine that.”
         “Why doesn’t anybody believe me?” Dallas demanded. “I saw her brains on the wall.”
         “You prolly did,” Goat said. “Gimme the flashlight.”
         Dallas reluctantly handed it over.
         Goat stepped back into his room and came out with a massive, industrial-size searchlight. He switched it on and the hall blazed. “I’m gonna go help Dune. Come get me when Capt’in wakes up.”
         At that, he left her standing alone in the hall.
         Was the whole ship crazy? One did not wake up from a head wound that left one’s brain smeared across a wall like a new style of abstract art. Dallas hurried back down the hall, quickly passing the Captain’s quarters without glancing inside. She hurried to the helm, where Squirrel had a side-panel open and was rooting through the wires she found there.
         “Need help?” Dallas suggested.
         Squirrel had four different-colored wires poking out from between her teeth. “Nope,” she said.
         “Got somethin I can do, then?” Dallas asked. “I don’t know engine stuff. Maybe I could help with comm?”
         “Nope,” Squirrel said.
         Dallas sat in the pilot’s chair and glanced at the console. The eerie darkness of the controls was more final than the loss of power. In that moment, she knew they were going to die. “I’ll just stay here and keep you company,” she said.
         Squirrel let out an explosive sigh and turned toward her as far as the wires would allow. “Go bug the Captain, will you? I’m trying to concentrate, Fairy.”
         “The captain is dead!” Dallas snapped. “Smallfoot was right. You are an uppity bitch.”
         Squirrel laughed. “He said that, did he? What a dweeb.” Dallas sensed no hostility in her manner, despite the fact that Dallas had just called her an uppity bitch.
         “Sorry,” Dallas muttered. “Just wish I had somethin ta do, that’s all.”
         Squirrel grunted and went back to work. After a few minutes, she said around her mouthful of wires, “You know we’re not getting out of this mess, right?”
         Dallas glanced at the flashlight in her lap. “Yeah.”
         “So why’d you stay?”
         Dallas glanced up, surprised. “How’d you know?”
         Squirrel shrugged. “Smallfoot liked you well enough. Figure you had a flashlight when you woke me up, so you must have been awake before the lights went out.” She glanced back at Dallas to gauge how well her remarks were hitting home.
         Dallas nodded and Squirrel turned back to the wires.
         “A pilot like you can get work anywhere,” Squirrel continued after awhile. “Me, I’ve got a history. Can’t get legitimate work. But you… You could have your own ship in a few years. Why’d you stay?”
         “I didn’t wanna leave Beetle without a pilot,” Dallas said. “Just in case Dune gets her running again.”
         Squirrel scoffed. “Dune’s not gonna get it running again without power. The best chance is to divert some of the backup life-support into the com system.”
         Dallas’s brows lifted. “Is that wise?”
         “Do I ever ask you if you’re flying straight?”
         “No,” Dallas said.
         Squirrel touched two wires together, producing a loud snapping sound, then twisted them tight. She shut the panel with a triumphant snap and moved over to the console. “You mind?” she said, motioning at Dallas’s chair.
         Dallas got up and watched as Squirrel sat down in the pilot’s seat. She picked up the handheld and slid the earpiece over her head. Then she started rattling off distress calls, switching the frequency every few minutes. Only a resounding static answered her.
         Squirrel lowered the earpiece in frustration. “Damn it, Fairy, where the hell did you leave us? There isn’t even a whisper out there.”
         Dallas bit her lip. “Sorry.”
         Squirrel made a very unladylike grunt and went back to her distress calls.
         Dallas sat down in Goat’s seat and watched. After twenty minutes or so, Squirrel turned on her in frustration. “Do you mind? You’re making me nervous. Go check on the captain.”
         “I already told you,” Dallas began, “The Captain’s—”
         “Dead. Yes, I know. Go check on her anyway.”
         Narrowing her eyes, Dallas got up and left the helm.
         She intended to head down the stairs and see what Dune and Goat were doing, but she heard a crash from Athenais’s room. She froze, her beam of light quivering over the open door.
         The crash came again, followed by a curse.
         Heart in her throat, Dallas stumbled to the open door and peered inside.
         Captain Athenais Owlborne blinked back at her like a deer caught in the headlights, completely whole, without so much as a scratch marring her head. Even her scars were gone. The wall behind her was clean.
         I’m losing my mind, Dallas thought.
         “Get that goddamned light out of my face!”
         Dallas lowered the light, still staring.
         The Captain got up and staggered to the door. When she reached Dallas, she took the flashlight out of her hand.
         “Where’s Ragnar?”
         “Smallfoot gave him to the Utopis,” Dallas said. “And he took the power-core.” And he killed you.
         Athenais cursed and stormed off to the engine room, leaving Dallas the choice of either following a ghost or staying behind in the darkness. She decided to follow the ghost.
         Down in the warmth of the engine room, Goat and Dune were muttering over a small boxlike contraption that they were hooking up to the fuse-box with a tangle of multicolored wires.
         “What’s the rat’s nest?” Athenais asked.
         Neither Goat nor Dune looked up. “Buggy battery,” Goat said.
         “And what’s that?” Athenais demanded, pointing to the manual in Goat’s hands.
         “Racing guide,” Goat said with a grin. “Did you know you can make a hundred thousand credits if you win the big race on Helius?”
         “Don’t get him started,” Athenais said with a sigh. She inspected the black box that was dangling haphazardly from the wall by its tangle of wires. “Squirrel got power?”
         “She hasn’t come down to yell at us, so yeah,” Dune said.
         Athenais grunted and trotted back up the stairs, leaving Dallas with Dune and Goat. Dallas turned and realized both of them were grinning at her.
         “She looks like she seen a ghost,” Dune said. They both guffawed.
         “What happened?” Dallas demanded. “I saw her brains on the wall.”
         “The Capt’in’s different,” Goat said. He shrugged at her confused look and went back to his magazine.
         Realizing they weren’t going to elaborate, Dallas swiped a flashlight and headed back to the helm. She found Athenais sitting at the pilot’s seat, radioing for help. When Squirrel saw Dallas, Squirrel shook her head once. That was all Dallas needed. They weren’t getting out of there.

Author's Note: There's more where this came from. The novel is finished, but I haven't had the time to post more of it on Writing.com. You can email me at thundress (at) hotmail.com for more and I'll be glad to send you the rest in a Word document. Also, you can visit my website for other novel excerpts and a forum about this work and others. Thanks for reading!

-Sara King
http://www.kingfiction.com