Episode Four (Part II)

{{Written by David}}

After retrieving a fresh scone, Kots meandered quite contently down the hallway of the Feisty Dragon. This ship, albeit getting into the later stages of its life, had become a comfortable place to call home. Its halls lit warmly by the floor-lamps. The rooms had space enough for any ‘practical’ man. The kitchen was usually well stocked, with a delicious chef… No, a chef that cooks delicious food. Kots grinned widely at his own little slip, and bit deeply into the scone. A foul taste filled his mouth, and he felt a hot, thick sludge ooze down his chin. His chewing ceased as he lifted his hand again to see what it was he had bitten into. A bloodied heart stared back at him. Kots stumbled back in alarm, dropping the heart, and tripping over something behind him. It seemed to be an odd lump of dirty clothing and blood stained uniforms.

“Kots! What ‘de hell do ye ‘dink yer doin! Git down!”

Kots stared confusedly towards the laundry. “Erm, hello Mr. Laundry, but did you just speak to me?” Suddenly, an arm shot out from the pile and dragged Kots into what seemed to be a fox hole underneath the ‘camouflaging clothing’. The dim light revealed a very short, very hairy, and a very angry man. He raised his hands to the sky, as if to invoke the powers of some ancient God. “Ye know dat eatin da ‘earts ‘o Cralikun don’t give ye magical powers!”

“Of course they don’t Eric, but the healing properties of the Cralikun heart of unrivaled, so if you wouldn’t mind NOT talking for the remainder of my stay in your cess-pit, that would be ‘mighty fine ‘o ya” Kots despised the men of Plant #32-B with most every fiber in his body. Their accents, their overbearing righteousness, and their complete inability to do anything by themselves all ate slowly away at Kots’s patients. Eric sulked into the back of his corner mumbling something about how the Anubian’s think they can just control anybodies plant, telling them what to do.

Kots spun round, eyes ablaze. He grabbed a hold of the dissenting soldier, and tossed him out of the hole. “I told you not to talk anymore!” Mere seconds later, the familiar sound of the Cralikuns armoured legs came speeding towards where Eric now sat. Kots started whistling a tune, until it was drowned out by the terrorized screams of agony that must surely be Eric’s. Fresh blood had started to seep through cracks in the “ceiling” of Kots’s new found abode when he finally decided to dig through his bag. Figuring that enough Cralikuns had gathered to feast on their newly claimed meant-sack, Kots pulled the pin on a CEG-grenade. He threw off the covering clothing, and came face-to-face with Violet.

Kots’s sudden appearance startled her. Letting out a yelp, she stumbled back a few paces. Recovering her composure, she put on an uneasy smile. “Kots! What where you doing hiding in my clothes? I know you all must think it’s so fun, playing ‘scare the princess’, but I warn you, I’ve got some big guns! And when I say that I’ve got them, I mean that Arturius does. So humpf.” With her speech given, Violet gave a dismissive head nod, and continued walking down the hall.

Kots stood stunned. He stood again in the hall of the Feisty Dragon. There was no blood, no Cralikuns, and no Eric. A heap of Violets dresses and clothing had been tossed about the hallway, and a half eaten scone lay at Kots’s feet. Kots let out a sigh of relief as the realization set in that he was not once again on the planet #32-B, losing a fight that should have been easily won. Also, the relief that Kots did not have a live gren… All emotions, save fear, fled Kots’s heart, as he slowly looked down at his right hand. Grasped firmly was an active CEG-grenade. All that had to happen for Kots to disintegrate all living tissue aboard the Feisty Dragon was have his finger slip from the dead-mans switch.

The dead-mans switch was a clever little safety device installed on most modern Anubian Grenades. It allowed for the user to ready the grenade, without actually lighting the fuse. Once the scanned fingerprint leaves the touchpad, the chemical fuse starts, and you have but a few seconds to vacate the area. It was named the ‘dead-mans’ switch after an entire squad of Anubian shock troopers had become pinned down, and ran at their assailers with these grenades in hand. When one of them was shot down, they fell, and their hand loosened, thus dropping the grenade. This was followed by confused Cralikuns and an entire squad of Anubian shock troops.

Kots stood frozen by anxiety. He was cycling through all of his military knowledge, trying to recall some little tidbit that related to disarming the switch. Unfortunately, he drew a massive blank. Just when he thought he was out of options, something from ‘Old Earths’ history struck him as a possibility. He chortled as he drew a heavy wrench from his bag. Imitating his old professor, he recited the old line, “In Russia, when it doesn’t work, hit it with something!” The blow fell straight onto the screen of the switch, which was currently covered by Kots’s pointer finger. A loud crack reverberated through the hallways. Suppressing the pain as his training had taught him, Kots investigated his handy-work. The screen was demolished, and the triggering mechanism seemed to either be jammed or short-circuited. Moving his gaze slightly downward and to the left, he noticed his finger seemed to be hanging at a rather odd angle. With a shrug, Kots pocketed the now dead grenade, retrieved his scone, and headed off to the infirmary. “Another day, another scare…”