Page 1 of Space Vampire
Chapter One
Dana
The station is silent. Normally it’s pulsing with noise—the clank of machinery, the whir of the atmosphere generators straining to keep up with the population, the hum of multiple voices in the background, the sound of booted feet on the floors. Now everything is so very quiet. Even the atmospherics click off, content with the temperature and the level of oxygen in the space station.
I lift up the metal grate and climb out of the laundry shaft I’ve been hiding in. At first, I thought I’d get a few hours to myself. The moment the laboratory alarms went off, screeching about an escaped subject, I raced down the hall, away from my alien master, and climbed into one of the chutes. I come here sometimes when I want to be left alone for a bit. As an alien’s unwilling pet, I get handled a lot whether I want it or not. It’s nice to get a few hours to myself, and I curled up in the piles of uniforms ... and apparently fell asleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but everything’s far too quiet.
Surely everyone didn’t just ... leave for good?
Surelynot.
Surely they’re just in a meeting? Threat neutralized and things are back to normal? I’ve lived on this station for a year now as the miserable pet of the head scientist, Nasit sa’Wost, and there’ve been a few times when their “experiments” have broken free from their confines. It happens when you’re dealing with living things. The quiet is unnerving, though, and it’s getting to me.
Has to be a meeting. I’m not that lucky.
“Computer,” I call out. “What’s today? Where is Nasit sa’Wost?”
It doesn’t acknowledge me. Of course it doesn’t. I’m not a person to it, which is annoying as hell.
Fine. I pull the stupid frilly bow off my head and the second one off my waist, tossing them on the floor. Nasit is going to be looking for me soon enough, and I want to enjoy not being someone’s pet poodle for a hot minute. I stretch, yawning, and run my fingers through my hair, happy to be free of the dumb decorations the alien puts on me. Nasit loves a garish bow and an even more garish dress for me. I swear, it’s like Halloween every day.
I glance up and down the hall. No guards, no scientists. All is still.
This means I have a few more minutes to myself. Might as well enjoy the freedom while I have it.
I waste no time in heading for the cafeteria. If we’re going with a Halloween vibe, it’s time for me to trick-or-treat. Specifically ... treat myself. My mouth waters at the thought of getting to eat something other than a hard, flavorless nutrient bar. Nasit gives me nothing but those, and even those he’s stingy with, because he likes a “lean” pet and not a “puffy” one. Jerk. I’m going to eat at least six bowls of noodles before they get back, I decide.
When I get to the cafeteria, though, the sliding doors are tightly sealed shut.
Frowning, I put my hand on the door lock panel. It doesn’t respond, so I tap it again. And again. “No! Come on! Answer me!”
The doors never even budge. Of course they wouldn’t. They open only for the people who live on this ship, and I’m considered a pet. With a furious snarl, I slap the panel again. No dice. I try to access it with an override code on the panel, but the station ignores my attempts.
All trick, no treat. Boo.
Emergency Mode. Security Breach. Containment of Specimen Required.
Ugh. Stupid station. Maybe I can pry the door open manually. I try to work my fingers into the tight seams of the door for at least ten minutes before I give up.
“I hate you, Nasit,” I say mournfully as I rest my forehead on the cold metal.
So not only have I been abandoned, but I can’t even enjoy this. I lightly thump my head against the door again, and then turn to look down the hall. No one has even noticed me. No one’s here to see me trying to break into the food supplies.
Hmm. Emergency mode, the computer had mentioned on the panel. Emergency mode changes the ship’s functions, but without access to the operating system, I won’t know what, exactly, that entails. I need access, somehow ... which means I need a friendly alien to help me with it.
Since they all consider me the equivalent of a yappy pet dog? It’s not freaking likely.
“Computer?” I try again. “Where is everyone?”
Still no response from the artificial intelligence that runs the ship.
I abandon the cafeteria and tiptoe down another hall, my feet cold on the floors (because Nasit doesn’t like his pets to wear shoes and he’s a jerk). There’s a window down this hall that has a view of one part of the station and deep space. I’ve enjoyed the sights here several times before, as you can see a lot of the station itself, along with a very pretty nebula in the distance.
The space station here is shaped like anHwith two long bars connected in the center. Along the outside of one bar, there’s always a row of little squares that look like teeth along a jaw. I asked about them once in halting alien tongue and was told that they were evacuation pods for emergencies. Then Nasit had patted me on the head and put another bow in my hair.
When I find the window, my mouth goes dry. Sure enough, the evacuation pods are all gone. All except one that sticks out like the last niblet on a cob of corn.
