Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

He slipped along the bunk towards Harkins' head. He could smell the stale breath of his enemy, feel the air brushing past his sensitive whiskers. He slowed, examined the terrain, picked out the best method of approach. When he was ready, he made his move.

Suddenly the ground surged underneath him. As if the bed itself had snapped shut like a set of jaws. He tensed to bolt, but a white sack enveloped him first, tangling his paws and blinding him. He thrashed, but he couldn't get a proper grip to run, and he felt himself lifted into the air. He tumbled on to his back, upside down, helpless, constrained. He hissed and spat and writhed in fury, but the sack had him trapped.

'Ha!' Harkins cried. 'Ha! Thought I was asleep, didn't you! Well, I fooled you!'

It was a gabble of meaningless sounds to Slag. He was shaken all about in his awful white prison. He twisted and turned, trying to right himself. Nobody did this to him! Nobody! Least of all that filthy fearful prey-thing!

'How do you like that, eh? I'll show you!'

'Will you shut your damn meat-hole?' moaned Pinn, who'd been awakened by the commotion.

'I got him! I got the cat!'

'Great,' said Pinn irritably. 'Throw it in a river or something. Scabby little bag of stink.'

'Throw it in the river? That's a good idea, Pinn! A good idea!'

'Happy to help. Now bugger off.'

Slag's flailing had got one of his claws hooked into the fabric of the sack. He struggled to free his paw, but instead succeeded in using it as an anchor to twist himself round into an upright position at the bottom of the sack. Now with his paws beneath him, he tugged. The fabric tore, but his paw remained trapped by a loop of stubborn thread. He pulled again, and this time a longer tear appeared.

'Erm,' said Harkins.

There was a creaking of bedsprings. Pinn rolling over to look down on the scene. 'I hope you didn't think your pillowcase was going to hold a cat that size, did you?'

Slag's claw pulled free, but he'd sighted freedom and attacked the rent, slashing and shredding. The scrawny one squealed, and the sack suddenly, terrifyingly, plunged downward as it was released. Slag hit the floor in a heap, but now at least he'd found the ground, and it would take more than a fall like that to hurt him. With the sack settling around him, he oriented himself, picked himself up and thrashed his way out of the neck of the pillowcase.

'Uh-oh,' said Pinn gleefully. 'He's mad now.'

Harkins was struggling with the door, trying to slide it open. The fear was coming off him now, that familiar smell. Harkins was many times his size, but Slag would have attacked anything at this point, even the oily monster that lived in the hold. He was berserk with rage.

His whole life, he'd been top of the food chain. He'd had vicious fights with enormous rats, but he'd never been beaten and never backed down. And he'd certainly never been manhandled in such a way. What had been done to him was too much to bear. It demanded bloody revenge.

He launched himself at Harkins' calf and sank his claws through his trousers. Harkins squealed in agony, swatting at him, but Slag clambered up his legs, arse and back, his claws cutting through cloth and hooking into flesh. Harkins was desperately trying to reach behind himself as he stumbled through the open door. His arms occupied with the cat, he tripped and went head-first into the metal wall of the corridor beyond. Slag jumped free as his victim crumpled to the floor, wailing and clutching his head. Pinn was helpless with laughter in his bunk.

Harkins tried to scramble away, but Slag wasn't about to let him. This wasn't finished until his prey was no longer moving. He sprang at Harkins' face. Harkins got his hands up in time to protect his eyes, but Slag sank yellow fangs into his fingers instead.

Harkins screamed, scrambling to his feet, desperately trying to shake off the cat. Slag was having none of that. He hung from Harkins' hand by his teeth, scrabbling for purchase with his claws. Harkins trilled an operatic wail, eyes wide as he stared in horror at the black, furry mass attached to him. Then his hand clamped around Slag's belly and tore him away, along with a chunk of finger. Slag found himself lobbed down the corridor towards the engine room, the taste of blood in his mouth. A seasoned warrior, he flipped in the air, landed on his feet, and charged back for more.

Harkins was running away down the corridor, his wounded hand clutched to his chest. Just then the female, Jez, stepped out of her quarters, holding a pistol.

'Harkins! Hey, are you alright?'

Harkins let out an incoherent blubber of terror and pushed past her, heading for the cargo stairs. Slag skidded to a halt. The female was standing between him and his prey. He hated this one. She made him afraid. The mere sight of her was enough to get his hackles up. She was wrong. Not natural. Unknown.

'Will you quit tormenting him?' she snapped at Slag. Slag just hissed at her. After a moment, she shrugged and went back into her quarters. 'I give up. I've got my own problems.'

As soon as the door to her quarters was shut, Slag raced down into the cargo hold. Harkins had reached the lever that activated the ramp. As Slag came thumping down the steps, he pulled it. Hydraulics whined as the ramp began to open. Harkins looked over his shoulder and saw the cat approaching.

'Stay away from me!' Harkins shrieked, pressing himself up against the bulkhead of the Ketty Jay as if he could melt through it. 'Get . . . just get away!'

He bolted for the gap that was opening at the end of the cargo ramp. Slag ran to intercept, but at the last moment Harkins threw himself down and rolled sideways, slipping out through the gap. There was a short squeal and a heavy thump as he hit the ground.

Slag went to the edge of the ramp and looked down. Harkins was getting painfully to his feet a couple of metres below, staggering away across the grass. He went a short distance, stopped, and turned back.

The ramp bumped on to the ground. Beyond was tarmac. Slag sniffed it distrustfully, then recoiled a step. He glared at Harkins.

'Ah!' Harkins gloated, bloody but defiant. 'Can't come out, can you? Think you're so special! Try and get me out here on the landing pad!'

Slag didn't understand the words, but something in Harkins' manner told him he was being taunted. He didn't like that one bit.

He peered out from the cargo ramp. Beyond it, everything was unfamiliar. The hard comfort of grimy metal and oil was replaced with strange textures and smells. Air so fresh that it felt like it was barely there at all. Frightening shapes loomed in the brighdy lit darkness, big things with wings and fat bodies, like colossal metal flies. Behind them were sinister dwellings, their windows glowing.

Overhead, Slag could see the night sky to either side of the Ketty Jay's tail assembly. It was black and speckled with strange lights. Something told him that there wasn't any roof up there. What kept the lights from falling down?

The world outside was too big, too overwhelming. But still, there was his enemy, his punishment incomplete. He was dancing around and pulling faces now.

Slag focused all his concentration on Harkins. The way he did when he stalked rats. The world didn't exist. There was only him, and his prey.

He took a step forward. And another. His paw touched the tarmac.

Harkins yelped, turned tail and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, away into the night.

Slag left the paw where it was until Harkins was out of sight, then drew it back. He sat on his haunches and began to groom himself, one eye on the landing pad. A satisfactory encounter, all in all. His dominance had been asserted. No need to venture out there, not when he was master of his own domain. What he had was quite enough.