The Starbird Hunt (1-9) (3) Natasha’s blue eyes expanded. They moved to Juma, whose thin, pink lips curved upwards against the beautiful red skin. “Shall I get the suits, commander?” *Just when you think you have them figured out…* Natasha gave the order. ***** Seth was getting restless again. “Just what are we looking for?” he asked, tried of hearing his steps against the metal floor. “Whoever commands this ship,” Tor replied in his calm and collected voice. “What if it’s abandoned?” the pilot shot back. “I doubt it,” Fletcher said softly, almost detached. “So the big rock sucked us in. Probably a defense mechanism the crew didn’t shut off before abandoning it.” “My instincts tell me something’s alive in here.” “My instincts tell me we’re going to regret this.” “Your instincts haven’t been refined and heightened by ten years of front-line combat on five planets.” Seth couldn’t counter that. “Life support’s still on, just like Luciem said,” Tor chimed in. “Or are you having trouble breathing?” “I should be. The idea of relying on Luciem brings me to near-hyperventilation.” “Look at that.” Fletcher pointed straight ahead. “Definitely a door,” James said. “Oh, joy,” Urbante muttered. “Probably leads into another hallway. Here, I’ll go through first. Wouldn’t want to lose the High Commander’s instincts or Tor’s encyclopedic knowledge of metals and doors.” “Get on with it, Seth,” Shim growled. “I’m this close to shooting you.” The red-haired pilot rolled his eyes and went through the door. He almost tripped over himself. He blinked the brown eyes and craned his neck to either side of himself. He let out a long whistle. “You guys better come in here.” His companions entered after him, displaying a similar reaction. The room beeped and flashed like a light show. Huge screens displayed different types of status against the opposite wall. Buttons lined the control board, different shades of different colors some glowing steadily, some pulsating light. The lights overhead hummed and washed the room in a white splendor. “Looks like SEA headquarters back home,” Fletcher breathed. “Yeah, if the SEA were run by cartoonists.” Tor shook his head and smiled lightly. “This is just like something out of a comic book.” “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” The three men turned, weapons ready to fire at the offensive voice. Shock registered on their faces as they watched an old, angry woman approach them with a gun the size of a limb. Her face twitched and convulsed with rage and her eyes burned with a dangerous heat. Spittle flew from her lips as she screamed obscenities and threats. The High Commander spoke loud and clear. “Ma’am, we mean you no harm. Please put down your weapon. If you insist on our departure, we’ll gladly let you lead us to the exit.” “OLD HAG!? I’LL SHOW YOU OLD HAG, YOU DECAYING SON OF A--” BAM! The ViperX away team dodged in different directions. Seth slid and got on his knees aiming at the crazed crone. He saw the laser beam speed toward her, deadly and quick. It passed right through her, not leaving a mark but burning through the wall. She didn’t even turn toward him, focusing on the poor man in front of her: Tor James. “Ma’am, please. Wuh-wuh-wuh-we don’t mean to off--” BAM! Tor rolled on his side, fumbling for his gun. The woman’s voice lowered. She approached Tor, menacingly. “All those years you acted like the perfect husband. Then I find you with that filthy, dirty…” “Hold on, man!” Seth rushed the maniacal female, arms outstretched. He saw his arms dissolve against the offensive form and then felt his body slam against the metal wall. The colors of the room dimmed against his eyes as he felt a tendril grip him, followed by several others restraining him. His eyes closed and the last thing he heard was the screeching voice of the phantom lady. “NOW YOU’D *HAVE* TO COME CRAWLING BACK TO ME!” Chapter Five: Wild Thang Fletcher opened his eyes and groaned. The world slowly came into focus, but unfortunately, it didn’t make much more sense. Several feet away from him was a floating chair from which hands emerged, pushing at the buttons, dials, and pads on the control board. After that, he noticed that there were rubbery tendrils around his body, suspending him from the ceiling in an unfriendly fashion. According to the Intergalactic Science Committee, all organic life forms, even the simplest plant are capable of making observations like those, if they have the organs with which to observe them (with the exception of the Rotenesian Happypup which lived in a world of its own). What Fletcher was observing with his eyes and skin wasn’t worthy of classifying him as an “intelligent” being, but what he thought next was. *I’m going to kill Luciem.* In the case of ISC vs. GCO (Intergalactic Science Committee vs. Greater Common Opinion), the ISC won on its decision to classify the urge of killing a life form for a reason other than necessity as the mark of an “intelligent” being. They later celebrated their intelligence by hunting down the entire race of Rotenesian Happypups to near extinction (they were so easy to kill) to near extinction. The same court that gave them the win on their last case found them guilty of cruelty to animals and being general jerks. They spent six weeks in jail and were fined 1500 luxury credits. Seth and Tor awoke in time to see the floating chair turn towards them and the man occupying it. He was an ancient man, older than the hostile woman of before. Wrinkles lined every centimeter of his face, framing his observant green eyes, hook nose, and dry lips. Gray, frazzled hair hung from his scalp and face, reaching his back and chest respectively. Thin, wiry fingers sprouted from his small hand, looking as if they were ready to crack under the pressure of the air. The sight of this creature, who looked as if he should have died several centuries before would have been enough to give anyone nightmares by itself but the disturbing final touch was the fact that his legs were missing. The man’s thighs ended in two scrawny stumps, resting comfortably on the cushiony surface of the floating chair. Then, he grinned a toothless grin, sending shudders up and down Tor’s spine. Seth was ready to go back to sleep, preferring to see the talented female Aleen he had been dreaming of than the decaying being before him, when the latter spoke. “Hi.” “Listen to me, you bag of bones,” Fletcher spat, threateningly. “You let us go before the rest of my crew catches you and I eat you for lunch!” “Cannibals? Natasha didn’t mention that.” “We’re not--” Seth began. “Nata--?” Tor began. “LET ME GO, YOU PREHISTORIC CRIPPLE!” High Commander Shim interrupted. “Done.” The tendrils were sucked back into the ship, dropping the three men onto the cold metal floor. They immediately reached for their weapons, which of course weren’t there. “Hold on a second, let me get your guns.” The old man directed his chair to the control board, pressed the nearest of many round, white buttons, and looked up at the ceiling. Shim, Urbante, and James followed suit, watching their guns being lowered into their hands. Confusion flowed from their expressions in torrents. “Commander Kira and the Woks are having tea in the dining room,” said the man in his high, grating voice. “My name’s Randy Sane, owner of this ship, and I invite you to join them.” Seth raised an eyebrow. “What *is* this place?” “This,” Sane said, smiling an empty smile and waving his small, brittle hand around the room. “Is the Wild Thang.” “Wild thing, You make my heart sing. You make everything Groovy.” The three men gaped at the unknown melody booming from the ship’s computer. “Heh-hee.” Randy chuckled and wheezed at the same time. “Like it? I dug it up from the Elven Library. Reminds me of my wife before she went cuckoo. That was her hologram you saw, when she blew my legs off. Recorded the incident for the divorce trial. Now I use it as a defense mechanism. Tea’s this way.” They followed him into a hallway. ***** Natasha sipped her tea, which she was enjoying immensely. This beat any of the stuff she had tasted on Tezenama and almost matched with the incredible drinks of Hennfarr, but without the insane inebriation or nasty hangovers. *Insane,* she thought. She looked at the host, Randy, sitting at the head of the table and blinked. He was staring back, face beaming. The others were stuffing their faces, talking, and laughing, having forgotten the purpose of the mission. Even Luciem didn’t bother inquiring about the status on the Wild Thang once the communications jam was deactivated. He had learned that they would be eating onboard and decided to sulk alone. Well, someone had to talk to this geezer. “Mr. Sane, what brought you to the Sessari system?” she asked, tossing her red locks casually, blinking her long lashes at her host. She gave him a look that would have melted Tor’s heart into his stomach (however physically impossible this sounds). “I think I told you. My wife.” Randy stuffed pieces of steak in his mouth while he spoke. “Tea,” by his definition, meant just that…accompanied by large quantities of red meat. The males had no objection, but Juma was a vegetarian and Commander Kira had too much on her mind to fill her slim stomach. “You mean the hag with the bazooka?” Seth asked, between mouthfuls. Tor kicked him under the table. “What? I’m sure he agrees.” “That’s right, I do. I mean, she gave me the best years of my life, but I’d trade them back for my legs.” “You do realize, Mr. Sane, that you can be given prosthetic or robotic legs for pretty cheap prices these days.” “Yeah, but they’re nothing like the real thing. And you should see the neglectful way doctors treat the handicapped. It’s all about credits these days. They’ll hand you any piece of metal that’ll serve for a limb, charge you ten times what it’s worth, and then injure you again six months later.” “Perhaps that was true when you were younger, sir,” Tor said. “But the Medical Excellence Act has been passed, making sure--” “Hah! I didn’t quit being a doctor until twenty years after the Medical Excellence Act appeared. All it meant was more paperwork if your patient died. They don’t tell you those things on the news frequency, do they?” Randy chewed loudly. The crew of the ViperX had stopped chewing altogether. Faytan chuckled. “Doctor? Of what?” “Many things,” Randy answered. “Cardiology, psychology, and proctology to name a few. I was one heck of a smartass.” Mr. Wok returned to his food, grinning distastefully. “You *were.*” “You don’t think I was senile and out of my mind my whole life, do you? I mean, my name says it all. Benjamin Sane.” “I thought your name was Randy,” said Juma. “That’s my middle name. It’s not on my birth certificate, but that was just the doctors screwing up again. Anyway, I’m not sane no more. That’s why I send in applications with the name “Ben Sane.” ‘Cause I’ve *been* sane, get it?” The doctor hollered and hooted loud enough to drown out the sound of the ship’s engines. His guests only stared. Scrtch! Scrtch! Tor glanced up, his electronic eyes focusing on the metal ceiling. “Did you hear that?” he asked Seth, who was next to him. “Hear what?” Seth had resumed eating and was currently sending all his brain power to his molars. Scrtch! Skreek! “There it is again!” Tor exclaimed. “That’s nice.” Seth’s reply was muffled by meat. The young scientist sighed and looked up again, his eyes whirring as he activated his X-ray sight. He zoomed in and gasped. “Seth!” He jammed his elbow into his friend’s ribs. “Seth, there’s a creature on the floor above us!” “It’s probably just the old man’s pet,” Seth suggested absentmindedly. “I DON’T HAVE A PET!” Randy’s screechy voice echoed off the walls, loud and obscene. The rest at the table looked up, startled. Tor blinked, surprised at the potency of the old man’s hearing. The latter gave an ugly grin. “No, sir! Those are…*space ‘coons!*” Da dum dum! Fletcher blinked. “What was that?” “Oh, ship’s programmed to do that whenever anyone says…*space ‘coons.*” Da dum dum! ***** The species Drobeni Gnarlkarly, or space ‘coons as they are commonly called, originated on the forest planet of Banakia, where a large percentage of the known galaxy get their house pets. Unlike their fellow forest dwellers, the ‘coons are vicious and dangerous, capable of devouring a man’s hand, a Desenar’s tentacle, and an entire Cloret in three minutes flat (test results courtesy of the Intergalactic Humane Society). This by itself is startling, but what really gives space travelers the horrors is the fact that the space raccoon can fly…outside the Banakian atmosphere and into the vastness of space. For years, the space ‘coon took unassuming ships by surprise, sabotaging warp generators, communication satellites, and life support systems. Eventually, the Intergalactic Governing Board, under the pressure of quadrillions of constituents, formed the Pest Control Committee, which managed to eradicate a great many of the ‘coons in many systems. The PCC gained so much popularity that the movie ‘Coon Busters was made, based on their exploits. Now, only a few colonies of space ‘coons remain. Many of these are regulated by the PCC and circus masters across the galaxy. But there is still one, rapidly growing, extremely hostile colony residing in the asteroids of the Sessari system. Luckily, no ship with competent crews and computer systems go near the Sessari asteroid field. ****** “Mist -- Doctor, what’s the problem?” Tor asked, following the floating chair. He, in turn, was being followed by his crewmates. Faytan, in particular, was annoyed at the “tea” being cut short. It was the most he’d eaten in months, since their last landing on a planet. “You saw them, boy.” The chair stopped at a glass case near the control board. Beneath it was written in big, red letters: BREAK IN CASE OF VARMINTS. He tapped it, and to his guest‘s surprise, the glass broke, giving him access to a large, menacing gun. “Space ‘coons--” Da dum -- Tseeeeeewwwww-BANG! The doctor fired his weapon at the speakers above. “Dang, that gets annoying after awhile.” Seth chuckled. “Wouldn’t using that weapon be overkill?” A glint came into the old man’s eye. “Have you ever wrestled with a space ‘coon, son?” “I killed a nine-foot snake in the swamps of Frazari, for your information.” “’Coons could eat half your snake before it realized it,” Randy said, almost whispering. Faytan roared with laughter. Those near him sidled away, in respect for their eardrums. “You’re afraid of a little rodent? I could probably kill one with my bare hands.” Which of course, was ridiculous, because Faytan’s hands were never bare, being the furry marvel they were. “I’d like to see that happen. Tell you what, you check down the southeast corridors. That’s where most of them get in. I’ll be glad for the help.” Doctor Sane floated away, cackling. “Creepy old coot,” Faytan muttered. He took his gun out of his holster. “C’mon, Juma.” “In a moment, love,” his wife responded. “I’m not slowing down for ya,” he called, already marching away. Natasha shook her head. “This is unreal.” “I wish,” Fletcher growled. “But the guy gave us food, so we’re sort of in debt to him. I’ll go after him, in case he falls of his hover-couch, or whatever it is. Commander?” “Yes, sir?” “If I get my legs chewed off, promise me you’ll get me one of those.” He gave a rare smile and went in the direction of the maniac. “I’ve heard of these creatures, and I fear them, Commander,” Juma said. “Be careful.” Seth rolled his eyes. “I’ve gotten my rabies shot, I’ll be fine. You, Commander?” “Stuff it, Urbante. Thanks for the warning, Mrs…” But Juma had already gone after her husband. Chapter Six: ‘Coon Busting “Well, I guess it’s you, me, and the princess, Tor.” Seth gripped his gun, smiling. He shook his head. “’Coon Busters. I loved that movie.” “Really? It scared the hell out of me,” Tor said. Natasha decided not to comment on the “princess” remark. “Okay, I guess southwest is the only area left. Follow me.” “Yes, your highness.” Seth smirked. Commander Kira growled. ***** “Doctor Sane! Doctor Sane, slow down!” Randy stopped his chair and turned. “Ah, High Commander. Pleasure, seeing you again. How long has it been?” Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “Two minutes.” “Oh! An eternity. What a shame I have to go after these space ‘coons. Excuse me.” The chair turned again. “Doctor, I’ve come to help you with the pests. It’s the least I can do, after the meal you gave us.” Dr. Sane smiled. “You seem to be forgetting the welcome I gave you with the hologram and the capture.” “Well, we were intruding, it’s perfectly understandable.” Fletcher wondered if the food was drugged. Why else would he be so polite to this lunatic? Randy’s smile broadened, which wasn’t the most pleasing sight. “You’re almost as crazy as I am. Well, I like you, Fletcher. Let’s go ‘coon huntin’!” ***** “Hello, darling.” Faytan jumped, aiming his gun at the direction of the voice. He groaned and put it down. “Beautiful, you’re going to have to stop with the sneakiness.” Juma smiled, the deep pools of blue that were here eyes shining. “You used to like when I sneaked up on you.” “Yeah, well that was before Luciem told me about my blood pressure.” The Takanori sighed, exhibiting emotional weakness that only his wife could see. “That and my stomach acid levels, my eyesight and my hearing. Twenty-five years ago, I was healthy as an olex. I’m getting old.” Juma stroked the back of his hairy neck. “Shush. One twenty-five is a fine age. You look as attractive as ever and perform even better.” Faytan wasn’t the type to blush, though it couldn’t show anyway. He gave a raspy chuckle and put an arm around his wife’s waist. “Well, age doesn’t even come near you, my carnivorous flower.” He placed his lips on hers and ran his claws delicately down her blue hair. Skreek! Juma backed away and turned her head toward the door ahead of them. “It came from in there, right?” “Frankly, I don’t care anymore.” “Faytan, you promised the doctor you’d help…” “I said I could kill his feared rodents easily. Didn’t say I’d actually do it.” He watched Juma’s eyes narrow to glowing slits. “But, I’m still hungry and I don’t turn down exotic food.”
Copyright © 2002 Phil V Infinite |