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Angel Wings Chapter 7: Can I Kill Them Now?
Posted By: Neil Yudsponwy<mark_price@hotmail.co.uk>
Date: 13 September 2008, 2:29 pm
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The remaining pirates scream at the sudden turn of events, completely helpless and out of their depth.
The Symbion scurries freakishly fast along the floor, heading passed smoker cowering in the cockpit, and directly for his reticent, wallflower pal. Everyone else bounces and blunders around in the air like they're caught in a giant web.
Meanwhile, I wrap my legs around flipper Hal's neck and the shit-breathing cocksucker gets his wish; he finds his head buried deep in my crotch with my thighs squeezing the very foul life from him. Had I known I'd be using my legs to kill a man, I'd have purchased a thigh-master deluxe years ago, but they just never played on its asshole suffocating abilities.
Symbion whips through the air and strikes the wall where our shadowed fourth pirate should be, but instead he simply vanishes into thin air and the scorpion mech is left snatching at a non-existent straw man.
'A holographic projection to bolster their numbers and attract negative attention?' I muse to myself. 'Tech that will undoubtedly come in handy."
Amidst the chaos and confusion, smoker decides to make a float for it and nervously forces himself out the cockpit and propels himself towards the ramp entrance, swimming through the air to where his Leech must be.
I issue a grunt and Symbion ignores the wispy shadow, turning its attention to our fleeing smoker instead. The last thing I need is for him to leave and introduce another uninvited guest in the form of vacuous space. It's cold outside and that's no kind of atmosphere for this type of party.
The black mechanical scorpion rounds onto the nearest wall and flipper Hal's emphatic, operatic screams are heavenly –so much so that a fat lady could do no better.
"Jeff, don't leave me!" He bleats, but his 'friend' shows no sign slowing down.
Symbion leaps from the wall and catches smoker in midair, wrestling him to the ground and pinning him beneath the magnetised spikes.
I grip onto the light rail over my workstation, a commanding position above Hal, and knowing things are in our favour, I issue another grunt for gravity to be restored.
The scorpion's tail splits back into two legs and with a single spur, it reaches over and pulls the FG lever.
We hit the floor with a thud, Hal takes the brunt of my weight, but I'm sure he's used to having burly men on top of him; not so much a hazard of the job, more a lifestyle he pursues with a passion.
I snatch the gun-shaped remote from him. "I'll take this." And deactivate what's called a 'Carnalectra' program on the readout, the one that's obviously been suppressing Connie. She immediately rolls out the turrets; a little late by a good thirty minutes but still a reassuring gesture.
"I asked you to make me something nutritious involving proteins, Con, not nauseous involving pirates." I quip with a subtle hint of relief in my voice.
A single shot rips through smoker's leg and he screams the best he can from beneath Symbion, sitting proudly upon his back. The three turrets snap into position, aimed squarely between flipper Hal's eyes as he rises to his knees –no doubt he's familiar with the position of having three large rods in his face. Although surprisingly for such a dream spot, the poor bastard doesn't seem to know what to do with himself on this occasion; he certainly doesn't want to put them all in his mouth.
"Can I kill them now?" Connie angrily requests.
"No." I say, contemplating their usefulness. Another bullet worms its way under Jeff's mangy skin, this time a little further up; this time all he can manage is a muffled cry as Connie takes charge of Symbion and instructs it to pull his legs apart. The turrets turn their attention to something more valuable to a man's ego than a simple leg.
"How about now?"
"No, Con; stand down." I chide her constant badgering.
I've finally figured out a plan for them. I hate manual labour.
The two of them gawp back at me with their grubby little grey faces; one from fear and the other because he doesn't feel so good leaking important lube juice everywhere.
Symbion climbs off Jeff and rounds up onto my back, I roll my neck around to ensure a good connection, clipping it in.
I offer them our hand.
"D'ya really think I was gonna kill you guys?"
I help flipper Hal to his feet and Jeff the limping smoker to my workstation chair.
"What do you take me for, an idiot?"
The two deadbeats look over at one another, in desperate need of a second opinion.
"Besides." I add, walking over and staring at one of the huge gaping holes in my vessel that leads into a Leech's crimson red, console-lit mouth. "Someone's gotta patch my ship and it ain't gonna be me."
"Connie?" I say, hoping she's had a chance to calm down, even though she's still spinning the turrets at random intervals.
A scare tactic, I'm sure… well, pretty sure.
Hal stands there, his eyes flipping between the three turrets when they go winding around and around, wondering if he's gonna take a second bite of a bullet sandwich, and whether it'll taste as painful as he remembers.
Jeff seems more focused on the pain in his leg, he should be thankful Connie was aiming to maim and not for an artery. His frantic bandaging with a part of his shirt isn't stopping him from bleeding all over my floor.
"Just a few moves and earn some easy money, you said." He furiously winces between shallow breathes and turret whirls, throwing his head violently forward at greaseball's corpse and then to his bloodied limb. "Quick job, no-one gets hurt if they don't act funny, you said!"
Hal seems too pre-occupied to reply. He's distracted by Connie's modern day interpretation of the cup and ball trick: 'guess which turret's got the bullet in'. I'm afraid the game's loaded in Con's favour and all bets are off.
"Connie, take us down onto a decent rock for repair, sweetie; Europa preferably. Have the Valhalla rendezvous with us on the surface." I smoothly throw in a cosy pet name, hoping the tasks will keep her from killing these idiots and saving me the hard work of patching the Aspis hull in the deep cold.
"Then can I kill them?" She persists.
Hal and Jeff look over at me with almost child-like innocence, that is until Hal bears his disgusting teeth with a meek, ingratiating smile. A shudder runs up through Symbion and I, contemplating the terrible 'what ifs' and blessing the 'thank fucks'.
I almost got sucked up by a pirate and spat out my own ship to burn up in Io's volcanic atmosphere while Connie was reaching sexual nirvana. If anyone should be making sure these guys don't miss their appointment with Death, I think it should be me… after they fix my baby's torn hide.
"I'll think about it."
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