Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“Now is our chance, comrade.”

“What?”

“Manuel was right about the ports needing mended,” Tor explained. “But only about why-oh-oh-eight. Zee four zero niner, your loader, is perfectly operational. Never needed attention.”

“But, it’s been hit by subsidence. The bottom has been hit by—”

“—They’re all like that. Standard wear and tear, they’re designed to last for decades, if not centuries. You’re an engineer , remember? You should know that.”

“You and I both know that’s lessense .”

Jaycee announced his arrival to his port with a vicious thump on its hatch. The sound echoed through the chamber, “Tor, this is Jaycee. Ready at Yankee-one-one-eight.”

“Damn, he’s there,” Tor lightened his tone and addressed Jaycee, leaving his comrade wondering what was going on, “Understood, Jaycee. One moment, please.”

“Hurry up.”

“Baldron?” Tor asked.

“Yes?”

“No time to explain. Get the hell out of there, now. And make sure Jaycee doesn’t see you.”

“What?”

“No questions! Head to the lift and get back to the control deck. Now,” Tor changed his tone when addressing Jaycee, “Okay. You heard my instructions to Baldron a few minutes ago, right?”

“Yeah, I get the idea,” Jaycee grabbed the bolt on the loader port, “Ready to rock and roll.”

Baldron didn’t know which way to look, or what to do. “Comrade? What are—”

“—Jaycee, please confirm Port Zee, four, zero, niner.” Tor said, no longer available for a clandestine chat with his Russian conspirator.

“Port zed, four, zero, niner. Confirmed.”

“Understood, standby,” Tor’s voice sped up and flooded Baldron’s headset, “Get out of there, good buddy.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, there is literally no time to explain. We’re wasting time talking about not talking about it. Go, go—”

“—Okay, I’m going .”

“Make sure that useless pile of mechanical puke doesn’t see you.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll have to do a lot better than your best , my friend,” Tor switched comms to Jaycee, “Okay, Jaycee. On my command you will make contact with the lock. On a countdown of three. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Baldron pushed himself out of the port and into the payload chamber. He grabbed the used canister and released it in the air a few inches from the door.

Tor continued with his instruction, “Reconciling nuclear engagement. Make contact please.”

Baldron carefully planted the sole of both boots on the adjacent panel and pushed himself into the distance.

Jaycee looked up at Baldron’s port but failed to see him move away. As far as he could see, the door was open and Baldron was still inside. His canister revolved around in the air just by the door.

“Idiot.”

“Sorry, repeat? Jaycee?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he turned back to the bolt mechanism on the port, “Let’s get on with this. Open the damn thing , will you?”

“Suits me. Contact established?”

The bolt on the lock shunted out, offering itself to Baldron. He grasped it in his hand and cleared his throat, “Contact established.”

Streaks of sweat smeared up the inside of Baldron’s visor as he kicked himself away from the next column. The elevator doors loomed fifty feet in the distance. A minute or two from escape.

Jaycee rolled his shoulders preparing to open his port loader.

“From three,” Tor advised. “Three, two, one… and engage.”

SHUNT-SWISH .

The port door slid down into the groove. Jaycee released the bolt and placed the good canister on inside it. “I’m in.”

“Good. Just holler if you need me.”

“I doubt I’ll be doing that,” Jaycee huffed and pressed his feet to the ground. He held his right glove to his face and inspected the little finger on his glove. The ends slid apart and released a screw tip, “Here we go.”

He moved his glove away from his face and eyeballed the thoroughly used and worn canister, “Right. Let’s get you fixed.”

A giant fleshy limb with a razor sharp talon shot out from behind it and swiped at Jaycee.

“Jeeeeeesus… Christ ,” he yelped and grabbed the good canister by his knees.

A second, third and fourth limb hugged around the canister, angry at having been disturbed.

The vicious beast snapped the spent canister in two. A blast of gas slammed against Jaycee, pushing him out of the port loader.

The good canister tumbled around at speed over his shoulder and clanged against a column. Jaycee unhooked his Rez-9 and aimed it at the creature, “Tor!”

The creature jammed forward along the port tight walls. It wanted Jaycee’s blood.

“Tor, do you read me?”

“Yes, good buddy. I read you. How are you getting on down there?”

“You son of a bi—” Jaycee drew his weapon.

“—What’s wrong?”

SNARL-SNASH! The creature’s six limbs rapid-gripped the edges of the port, one by one, and prepared to launch forward.

“You know damn well what’s wrong—”

“—No need for cursing, that’s just rude,” Tor fake-chuckled over the comms, “Now, at this point you’ve probably got your gun aiming right at it , don’t you?”

“You’re Goddamn right I do.”

“Yeah, just one thing.”

“What?” Jaycee trained his gun at the knuckle-headed midsection of the beast. It opened its mouth-like cave and screeched up a storm.

“Bullets and zero gravity, my friend? You may as well just take a bath and drop a toaster in with you—”

“—You’re a dead man, I swear,” Jaycee released his finger from the trigger. He threw the gun at the screaming beast’s mouth. It caught it with deft expertize and munched away on it, breaking it in two. “You better pray it kills me.”

“I’ve already done that. Send my regards to Daryl and Haloo when you get to Hell,” Tor smirked and cut the call.

Baldron reached the elevator doors. He slammed the panel in a desperate bid to open them, “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Baldron!” Jaycee’s voice hurtled toward him as he frantically jabbed at the button on the wall.

“Come on, please. Please .”

“You and your soviet boyfriend are dead men,” Jaycee kicked himself away from one of the many columns, headed straight for the door.

“Close, damn it. Close !” Baldron rapid-hit the button, praying that the lift would go.

Jaycee flew through the air and threw his hands forward. Baldron’s throat needed removing.

The creature, however, was hot on Jaycee’s tail, too.

“Baldron, don’t close that door!” Jaycee shouted as he kicked himself forward, “Keep it open.”

“Comrade,” Tor’s voice came through, “Close the door.”

“I am, I am,” Baldron hit the panel over and over again, “It won’t close.”

“Stupid American-made crap,” Tor failed to realize his voice came through Jaycee’s helmet, “Much like that big hunk of whale blubber.”

“What did you call me?” Jaycee screamed.

“Oh, you can hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” Jaycee quipped, angrily, as he zipped towards Baldron in the elevator cage fifty-odd feet away, “Hey, dead man!”

“Who, me?” Baldron and Tor asked in unison.

“ Both of you.”

The creature gained on Jaycee. It had learned to propel itself watching the man’s actions. Worse still, it had six times as many limbs as its prey to do it with.

Baldron elbowed the button on the elevator panel. The doors slid together very, very slowly, “It’s closing!” He clapped eyes on the creature in the distance and backed up against the elevator’s back wall, “Oh, shiiii —”