Chapter One of a oddly titled story (I called it Space Sty) I wrote quite some time ago, and (true to character) did not ever finish.
‘Not
a bad count’, Drac thought as his lasers struck and destroyed yet another Fart
Terrorpod. ‘I've nailed six and my
shield can still handle one more direct hit before I lose it.’ It had always been Drac's style to look at
the positive side of everything. It kept
him focussed. In his current situation
it was a definite advantage to think this way.
His fuel tanks were down to sweet FA (Fume Activation, often referred to
as sweet due to the sugary aroma of Spanda, the fuel used by the starships in
the Elite Imperial Military Organization), and his hyperdrive had been knocked
out of commission hours ago. He was 6,000
Km over the surface of the planet Grime, and its gravity field was pulling him
down. He was about to be blasted by a
Fart Terrorpod and his shields were almost gone.
Back
in the Academy, he had been given a PMAFR (Positive Mental Attitude Factor
Rating) of 25, the highest ever recorded by the instruments used to record such
things. In fact, he showed a remarkable
resistance to other people's NMAFRs (Negative Mental Attitude Factor Ratings). High NMAFRs usually caused even those persons
with very high PMAFRs to have their ratings temporarily decreased.
A
not-unexpected blast from the rear shook his Foerd and caused a small light on
Drac's dashscreen to begin flashing. The
small light indicated the shield was history.
The next direct hit would blow him to small fragment-like pieces, - some
flesh-coloured - most Foerd-coloured.
Drac pulled a hard left on the steering mechanism and heeled the Foerd
around to face the new attacker.
"Right
on!" He exclaimed. "I thought there was only one Fart left,
but there's a whole splifload!"
Indeed,
the one Terrorpod he had already been aware of before turning was now quite
close, and another nine Terrorpods were bearing down from a slightly higher
altitude than Drac's own. He adjusted quickly
and fired twice at the group of nine, and managed to blow one out of the sky
and graze the closest one’s front end, rendering it without fire power. Drac shook his head quickly with a fleeting
thought about Fartarian ship designers deciding making Terrorpods so that you
had to drop your forward shield to fire your weapons. How dumb.
Drac was about to volley a second round of fire before the Terrorpods
came within the range of their own weapons, when suddenly his Foerd seemed to
drop out from under him. Drac glanced
down at his fuel indicator.
Empty. All his Spanda had leaked out or was used up.
"Splif.”
Drac frowned at his situation. “How am I supposed to aim and shoot at these
buggers if I can’t manuever?"
And
then Drac's face split into a wide grin as a thought occurred to him: "I wonder how many Farts are down on the
surface?!"
Drac
reached for the steering mechanism and tried to get the star shaped Foerd to go
into a spin. The group of Farts flew by,
holding their fire as they saw no jets of flame coming out of any of the
various ports, ducts and orifices on the Foerd.
Drac figured they wanted to see the ship crash on the planet instead of
blow up in the sky. Farts were always
suckers for new experiences, especially if it involved another creatures
gruesome death. Almost as a unit until
they unanimously scrambled for their long-distance viewers.
Drac
got the Foerd into a spin as his altitude dropped to 1,000 Km. He tried to then get the spin to increase,
which was very difficult to do with no fuel to power any ducts. He had to bank the Foerd so that it fell on a
diagonal and keep cranking the steering mechanism to turn the Foerd in an ever
faster spiral.
Suddenly
the Foerd was shaken by an impact.
Drac's brain was getting a bit fuzzy as his spin was giving him the
pressure equal to about 12 Gs, so at first he thought it was a Fart firing at
him from a Terrorpod. Then he realized
he had just hit Grime's atmosphere. The
Foerd was beginning to heat up. Drac
brought the ship up so that it was in a flat spin, like a frisbee. The spin increased, but the Foerd's decent
began to slow ever so slightly. Drac
hoped he could remain conscious long enough to do the last couple of maneuvers
to land the ship. He had some Farts to
kill.
The
heat was already beginning to diminish, due to the ice particles ever present
in Grime's atmosphere, as well as the honeycomb-shaped nano-ceramicarbon tiles
present on the bottom of the body of the ship. But the Foerd was now hitting 16
Gs. Drac fought with every neuron of his
mind to stay awake. The Foerd hit some
turbulence and threatened to bank into a dive, but Drac fought the steering
mechanism until the flat spin was again established. A dive would be bad. A dive would mean Drac could never get rid of
another Fart, because Drac would be, you know, that thing where you stop
breathing.
"Built
Foerd Tough!" laughed Drac, thinking how some of the other makes of ships
would have either blown up by now, or would have been uncontrollable, or would
have flipped over for a "pilot sandwich landing" as it was
nicknamed. The steering mechanisms in
Foerd's products were the main reason Drac chose to pilot them.
His
altitude was rapidly becoming non-existent, as his spin was reaching 20
Gs. Drac had never been able to remain
conscious past 17 Gs before, but the thought of being able to cut down ten or
twelve Farts with his Lazer Blaster kept him conscious. After all, he couldn't blast any if he passed
out, crashed, and burned, could he?
Once
his altitude hit less than 500 meters above the surface, Drac felt
consciousness slipping away from him. He
hit the hover switch, hoping the experimental fusion-powered hover units which
were designed for stealth maneuvers while ships were planetside might have
enough guts to slow the ship down some more.
If Drac hit the planet even at his currently reduced falling speed, he
would create a quaint little ball of fire and subsequent crater, and that
wasn't what he wanted his last contribution to the Universe to be.
The
hover units whined, coughed and then made an awful rattling sound which
continued. Through the haze of
unconsciousness, Drac realized something was very wrong with the hover units. He could not shut them down, however, because
he would crash for sure. He just had to
hope they did not cause the ship to blow up in midair...
Suddenly
Drac realized he was once again becoming fully conscious! He was coming in fast, not too far from some
settlement which kept zipping by the windshield as he spun. A quick glance at his G Meter showed the Gs
had dropped to 7, undoubtedly because of the loudly-rattling hover units. Smoke was pouring out from between the floor
panels, and the noise was getting worse, but his descent and his rotation were
both slowing.
"Now
to land before the hover units blow!"
thought Drac out loud.
Drac
coaxed the falling Foerd over closer to the settlement, which he could now see
was as large as a city. The Gs dropped
to 4 now, but it was still very difficult to keep track of where the city was
when it kept zipping by the windshield.
Suddenly
the ship slammed into the ground, silencing the rattling hover units. The descent of the Foerd had been slowed
enough however, that Drac simply lost all of his wind as the ship crashed and
the crash pillow popped into his face.
Drac would have exclaimed upon the benefits of wearing seat belts, but
he had no breath to use for such an exclamation.
Drac
scrambled out of his seat and grabbed the Lazer Blaster pistol at the rear of
his cabin. He was about to scramble
forward and take the Lazer Blaster rifle out of its compartment, when the hover
units below finally caught fire. The
heat was becoming unbearable very quickly, and Drac knew there was enough Spanda
stored in canisters in the emergency area to blow the ship. He changed course and tried to burst through
the door by the passenger side. It
wouldn't budge.
Drac
swore and quickly headed back to the rear of the ship. Smoke streamed up through the floor panels
back here as well. Drac burst through
the door leading to the rear area of the Foerd, running for the rear exit. At that moment, the rear door burst inward
from some impact. Instinctively, Drac
dived behind
some air tanks to avoid the
shrapnel. As it turned out, the shrapnel
was minimal, but some things are worse.
Seven Farts crowded around the rear door of
the Foerd, the three closest ones blasting the interior with the pale grey rays
of their plasguns. The insidious
invention of the Fartarain scientists from their home planet of Fartar,
Fartarian plasguns ignore all material except bone, which the rays
disintegrate. If Drac had been standing
where he was milliseconds before, he would now be a pile of blood and flesh on
the floor. Not a pretty thing to dwell
on, so Drac didn’t.
After
the initial blasts from the Farts, Drac fired his Lazer Blaster Pistol three
times from his position behind the air tanks.
Two of the Farts went down, the others diving for cover behind the sides
of the doorway. Immediately Drac changed
his position three paces to the right, behind a crate, just as one of the other
Farts jumped
back in front of the doorway with a
Pinhole Smelter rifle and fired. The
needle-thin laser punctured the air tank Drac had just moved out from behind,
through the other side, through the wall beside the doorway leading to the cabin,
through the pilot's seat, and then through the windshield of the Foerd. Presumably it would continue to infinity,
although Drac still considered that to be a false rumor garnered by the Farts
to frighten the other sentient beings of the Galaxy.
Air
burst out of both holes in the air tank noisily and all at once. It wasn't a great distraction, but it would
do. Drac was up and firing instantly.
Drac's
gun fired three more times, taking the Pinhole Smelter rifleman in the chest,
and the two other Farts who were peeking around the doorway to watch the
progress of the pinhole laser between their eight collective eyes. One fault of Farts, Drac thought, was their
curiosity about things getting shot, blowing
up, getting wrecked or catching on
fire.
Drac
fell flat to the deck and rolled back to the left where the air tank was still
hissing from the two neat holes punctured in it. His body sizzled from the heat of the floor
boards. He aimed his LBP at the fallen
rifleman through the billowing smoke. He
was sure one of the other Farts would try to grab the Pinhole Smelter rifle,
and was not mistaken.
Drac
grinned as both Farts tried for the Pinhole Smelter rifle at the same moment,
both grabbing it at opposite sides and beginning a tug-of-war.
"Gar!"
shouted one.
"Nur! Gar!
Tay gar!" shouted the other.
Drac
shook his head and laughed as he slowly stood up. He knew now he was safe from these
Farts. The two Farts froze and looked up
at the sound of Drac's laugh. They began
an even more frantic struggle over the rifle.
Drac shot twice, quickly, taking both Farts in the neck. Suddenly there was a muffled
explosion from the front cabin, and
smoke and heat filled the Foerd, forcing Drac out into the Grime air.
His
vision was obscured by smoke, but Drac thought he saw movement. He dropped to the landing strip, rolled left,
and stood back up. There was a popping
sound, and his pistol began to hiss. He
blinked some of the smoke away and looked at his pistol. A small, glowing hole could be seen in the
power chamber.
Drac flipped the pistol over to see
another pinhole opposite the first. It
was ruined. Drac looked around him to
see twenty or so Farts, all with pinhole smelter rifles pointed at him
He
dropped his pistol, shrugged, and smiled.
The
Farts advanced and one indicated Drac should raise his hands above his
head. Drac complied, and the Fart
grabbed his hands and trussed them behind his back. Drac was surprised at how efficiently he was
being bound. These Farts have had
experience with humans before!
The
Fart prodded Drac with his rifle, apparently indicating that Drac should go
forward. Drac did.
Right
onto his face.
Drac
awoke to find himself alone in a very dark area, on a cold hard surface. From the smell and air quality of it, it was
underground. His head ached and there
was an awful sensation in his lungs, like he had inhaled several dozen
cigars. Something large stirred in a far
corner.
In
his mind Drac leapt up to defend himself against whatever monster inhabited the
Grime underground, but instead he barely managed to turn himself to face the
sound.
"Drac? Zat you?" drawled the monster in the
shadows.
"Huh?"
Drac said. ‘Where the hrak am I that
creatures know me?’ Drac wondered, quite
disoriented.
"Well,
Drac!" the voice said, coming
closer. "It’s sure good to see a
familiar face, even down here!"
Drac’s
eyes were adjusting to the gloom, but he still could only see the silhouette of
a figure in the dark, coming closer.
"When
they brotcha in, they were talkin’ about how stupid this human was who hadn't
worn a breatherpack and was tryin’ ta take on the whole gorram Fart force after
crashlandin’ right in the middle of their airfield! I should have guessed that it was y’all by
that ballsy description, but I jus’ thought it was some other dumb hrak who was
gonna spend the last few days of his life here with me in this osquip's nest. It sure is good to see ya, ol’
buddy!" the now familiar voice
said.
"Gen? Gen is that you?!" Drac asked incredulously.
"Bet
your hrakin’ Krysler it is!" the voice
answered enthusiastically.
"Holy
splif! Gen! How the hrak are you?" Drac struggled to get up to embrace the huge
fighter pilot, but was still woozy from the exposure to Grime's poisonous
atmosphere and fell back to the floor.
"I haven't seen you since that expedition to the Nagal system that
went all wrong!"
"Yeah,
I din't know when we'd run into each other agin after that captain ordered us split
inta different squads so’s we wouldn't cause no more trouble!" the other replied.
"Where
are we?"
"In
the gaolhouse of the Farts. I bin here
almost a standard year now. I wuz with a
patrol that got hit hard two star systems away.
They had one of them big mother ships and got me in a Lonmarr Beam. They caught me and a couple of other guys,
and then brung us here to interrogate.
I've managed to
stay alive by only feedin’ 'em a little
information at a time, but always makin' 'em think I've got more."
"You're
feeding the enemy information?!" Drac asked incredulously.
"Nothin’
they can use, but nothin’ they can figure out that they can't use! Farts is so dumb!"
"What
about the other two pilots?"
"They
refused flatly to give any out..."
"Oh."
"Besides,
I acted like I didn't know Fart language.
It took ‘em seven months just to 'teach' it to me! Then I started my 'information leak'. I've jest about run out o’ stuff, though, and
they bin actin’ a lot less patient with me."
"That
doesn't sound good, Gen."
"But
now that yer here, we can escape!"
"How
the Hell do you figure on that?"
"Because
yer Drac, that’s why!"