Page 2 of Space Vampire
Son of abitch.
The station is quiet because everyone hightailed it out of here, and I was left behind. I rub my eyes, just in case I’m seeing things. I’m here alone on Superior Stables Lab Station. Perhaps I should be panicking, but instead all I feel is a deep-seated glee. I’m free. I can take that last pod and figure out how to get away from here and maybe find my way back to Earth ...
A distant crash of metal echoes from somewhere deep inside the station. The labs.
Correction. I’m not alone.
Security Breach. Containment of Specimen Required.
Whoever it was that they’re fleeing is still here with me.
Chapter Two
Dana
Another crash from deep within the labs makes me tense. Whatever monster they created is still here on the station ... with me.
That’s not good.
I’ve seen some of the creatures created in the labs here. Nasit is a master of what is referred to as “splicing.” He takes genetic profiles of multiple races of aliens and crafts a specially designed clone out of all the best traits. Those clones—splices—are to be used as a gladiator for whatever barbaric sports these mesakkah aliens are into. The tall, horned blue aliens dress in elegant robes and hold their noses up in the air when it comes to the other alien races and pride themselves on how learned and civilized they are, and yet they love slavery and gladiators.
Spoiler alert: The entire universe is full of jerks.
I need to get to that pod. I don’t know how to operate it, but whatever they’re avoiding here means I should avoid it, too. To get to the pod, though, I’ll have to cross the middle bar of the H and over to the far side of the station.
And the labs are in the center of the station.
I contemplate getting back into the vents, but I know from experience that the portions of the laundry system large enough to climb through are centered mostly over the living quarters of the station and that there’s only a chute for medical waste near the labs.
I’ll have to walk directly through the most dangerous area in order to get to the escape pod.
Ugh.
The alternative is to just ... not go? I could hide in Nasit’s quarters until the mesakkah scientists return. He’ll be back at some point. He’ll put a bow in my hair and pat my head and I’ll hate every moment of it, but I’ll be safe. Safe, with bows and nutrition bars and sleeping in a cage, and I’ll never see Earth again.
Maybe they’ll come back to the station to rescue me before I starve to death.
Maybe they’ll return before the monster realizes I’m here and eats me.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
My stomach growls, and I go looking for a weapon.
Weapons aren’t so hard to come by on a space station built for cloning monstrous gladiators. As I approach the middle section of the ship, where the labs are, I come across the training grounds. There, I look for something I can use to defend myself. It’s too much to hope for a gun of some kind, but even the handheld weapons are ginormous. Humans are bite-size snacks compared to the full meals of most aliens. I pick up a club ...
. . . and immediately topple over.
“Must weigh fifty pounds,” I mutter. “Gotta be something pip-squeak-size around here.”
I try a sledge-hammer, a sword that’s taller than I am, and something that looks like clawed gloves, except the gloves are the size of baseball mitts. I’m more likely to injure myself with this stuff than anything. As I contemplate how I can defend myself, one of the bots that cleans the ship putters past, moving down the hall. I follow it. A long arm reaches out and begins to swipe across the glass, squeegeeing it clean.
I break the squeegee off, ignoring the shrill alerts that the bot makes, and practice flicking my new weapon. It’s flexible and long and reminds me a bit of a cross between a whip and a fencing blade. Will it protect me against whatever is loose on this ship?
No. But it beats nothing.
There’s another crash nearby and the pinging alert of a system going offline. This time, the sounds are much, much closer, and my skin prickles.
