Pumpking

Issue 41

I slipped into the cafeteria, my heart pounding away in my chest so fast I worried it might burst or something.

The windows along the edge were covered by a protective metal shell, cutting off any view I might have had of what was going on outside the ship. For all I knew, the alarms were just a drill and I was perfectly safe; but I didn't know, not for certain and I had to find out--- or at least get some sort of protection.

The kitchen door was locked and didn't like my pass-card when I swiped it. It beeped at me with a denial.

Fantastic.

The ship rolled again and I narrowly avoided being hit by a taco someone had left out as it splattered against the wall above me.

We actually rolled this time and I was glad the chairs were also bolted in because it was all I had to hold onto as the floor was suddenly above me. By the time the ship righted itself, I was wondering if I would live long enough to check the kitchen for weapons.

There was nothing to jimmy open the lock or smash the door down with- no conveniently placed fire-axe or vending machine unsecure enough to launch through the entryway and gain access.

I had no weapons, no powers that would work, no idea where to go in the event of space-attack and an increasing level of frustration when the side of the cafeteria window smashed in. if I hadn't been still gripping the chair in front of me I would have gone flying through the room, into the sucking blackness outside.

As it was, it was like a sudden suction pump being turned on, full blast, and I was the tiny tick holding on to a thin blade of carpet. The air in the room screamed out of the hole, my grip on the chair was suddenly white-knuckle and I felt a coldness enter, broaching on the room like icy black death.

I might have screamed, but there was no air or thoughts but those of holding the fuck onto the chair when it happened.

For a few moments the world was a hurricane of chill, burning fingers, drowning oxygen and fear. Then the huge object that had breached the haul whirled and a fan spread around the edges, blocking the gaps and sealing the room.

I thought I had gone deaf before, but the number of alarms blaring in the room in that moment was ridiculous. It was like being in the heart of a nightclub for a death-metal concert. Nothing but roaring noise and ear-splitting headache.

The pod was long, sharp at the head, thin green spikes leading up and down the edges with the sort of glow reserved for neon, outlining sections I imagined had some sort of significance.

I swallowed, aware that there wasn't enough air in the room, but also that I should try to get out anyway. I didn't know where to run, though. Surely if something had boarded here, the other decks would be in just as much trouble.

I didn't have the sort of time I needed to consider my options. The pod cracked open.

The creatures that spilled out were, without a doubt, the most hideously put together things I had ever seen. Their arms were thin, spindly like vines, their heads boulbos and oversized. They had glowing orange eyes, large plasma-looking guns in their hands.

I was still frozen in place, trying to figure out where I could run to, when I felt the symbiote stir with interest. I felt the connection running down my arm and the psychokinetic energy curling around my fingers as I looked at these... plant-headed things and knew that they had some pretty impressive explosive capabilities.

Oh man.

The alien plant-head raised its weapon, something that looked like it would cause me a great deal of trouble and I reacted on instinct.

I could see it focus on my glowing hand, see it's wariness as I spread my fingers at it, feel a sense of sickness well up inside my gut seconds later; but the act itself? I went blank. Instinct and self-preservation rose to the surface of my ape's mind and compelled me to fight for my right to survival.

I've never really examined the full details of what I do to Cucurbitaceae, from where I sit, it looks like I just magically snap my fingers and they explode like their insides were packed with c-4. My Pantheon case-worker tried to explain it with a lot of science lingo, something about sub-atomic nuclear re-arrangement and chemical reactions. But to be honest I'd been more heart broken over the 'never get rid of it' side of that discussion then the destructive potential of the Power. Right in this second, I realized that my power was quite curious. I guess it was a mixture of shock to what happened with the huge plant-head exploded.

The fire alarm overhead burst on with the sort of vehement reserve of an angry cocker spaniel and I threw myself against the ground.

The space-ship-pod thing was blown right out the hole it had made in the side of the mess hall. White noise and blinding light flooded my vision, I felt the terror of space sucking at me for a long moment or two; bits of debris and smoke barely siphoning around me for a moment before a force-field closed around the breech.

I was left gasping, hacking, soaking in foam that smelled like plastic-wrapping and in a room that looked like a terrorist had taken to with a rocket launcher.

I didn't need air- I needed to get the hell out of here before another pod landed. It was a miracle I wasn't killed by explosive decompression. I'd seen that in a movie.

I staggered and tripped my way to the door and ran my pass over the keypad. It beeped angrily at me, showing a red light.

I sobbed lightly, then remembered that there was probably an emergency switch, right?

Break in case of emergency. The flashing red button behind glass—I swallowed and slammed my fist into it; wincing at the cuts the glass erected from my hand. No time to worry about that; I had to get the hell out of here.

The door whooshed open, bringing with it more alarms and a gust of air as the room was flooded with oxygen from the corridor.

I didn't know where the hell to go- why hadn't anyone given me a safety briefing? What the hell did they expect to happen? These people couldn't go a day without an incident.

Still, I didn't have time to whine about it.