RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.2 SEARCH THE MACHINE ROOM

RED PLANET STOWWAY CH.2 - SEARCH THE MACHINE ROOM FOR A WEAPON

By RaShelle Workman

You decide to head in the direction of the chugging noises.

Where there’s a machine there’s a weapon, right? you try to convince yourself.

There’s a big sign on the door from which the obnoxiously loud sounds are coming. It’s a depiction of a human inside a red circle with a big, red line going through it. Across the top, in bold, it reads: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

“Wouldn’t you know it, I just became authorized,” you tell the sign as you pull on the handle.

The door opens with a hiss, and smoky vapors leak into the hallway.

“Oh hell,” you say, quickly closing the door behind you. It’s dark and loud – so loud you think your head will split in two at any moment. Putting both hands over your ears, you try to keep it together.

“Aww,” you scream, frustrated. There’s no turning back now though. Malloy is surely only seconds behind you. Using both hands, you feel along the walls on either side of the door to search for a light switch.

“Bingo.” You flip it on. The room is large and lit with strange orange lights.

It sounds like a bunch of people are running. Even over the noise, you hear shouting. “Hurry. Go! Go! Go!”

A herd of elephants, you think, shaking your head.

Heading down the first aisle, you start looking for anything to use as a weapon. You need one. Fast!

Machines of all shapes and sizes are everywhere. You have no idea what any of them do. Being an accountant, the types of machines you use involve adding and subtracting, the occasional search of an online website or the press of a button

You run up and down aisle after aisle, searching between the machines. Above them. Underneath them.

Nothing.

You run down an aisle that has a lot of knobs and buttons against walls of computers on either side. Blues, greens and reds are lit up all over the consoles. You don‘t stop, even though you‘re starting to get a little light-headed. There is nothing here that‘ll be of use.

“Damn,” you think, turning left and left again, slamming into something. “What the –?”

Taking a step back so you can get your bearings, you realize you’ve run into some sort of robot. You’ve also noticed your head is heavy. The thing is typing away on a keyboard. It turns and looks at you. “No. Humans. Allowed. You. Are. Not. Authorized.” Its yellow eyes look at you and back at the computer screen. It’s still typing away.

“Hey R2, you wouldn’t happen to have a weapon I could borrow, would ya?” You can’t help letting out a giggle. What the crap?

The robot is about your height, maybe taller. It has a rectangle head and a round body. The neck, arms and legs look to be made out of metal pipes. The thing looks like something you could have built in junior high shop class. It also seems to be getting wider and thinner; taller and shorter. Suddenly there are fifty more of them just like it. You figure you must be hallucinating, but can’t seem to care.

Smacking it in the head, you say, “Hey Roboturd? A weapon—mind if I use your arm?” Wobbling, you reach out to grab it.

“You. Are. Unauthorized,” the robot says, facing you.

It grabs you under the arms and lifts you into the air. Feet dangling, you start laughing and stick your hands in the air. “Weeee,” you yell, unable to help yourself. Inside you‘re scared to death and wonder where it‘s taking you.

You hear a whoosh and some doors slide open. The robot drops you into a container with grates along the bottom. One of your legs falls through as well as some ashy looking substance.

The robot looks down at you, its yellow eyes glowing, and says, “As. My. Favorite. Group. The. Coasters. Like. To. Sing: Take Out. The. Papers. And. The. Trash.”

It waves and there’s a whoosh as a set of big metal doors closes above you.

You wave back and chuckle because you can’t help it. Whatever was or wasn’t in the air has affected your brain beyond your control. Even Malloy and his nasty junk seem kinda funny right now. You realize Malloy must have set off an alarm. Those who worked in the machine room left so that they could put something in the air to cause your hallucinations. You can’t help but wonder what or who picked you up and carried you over to the container. Maybe Malloy in a space suit? You’ll never know because an extreme heat starts to rise. You look down. Massive flames are seconds away from incinerating you.

Before screaming, you think, Yackety yak, don’t talk back.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2

RED PLANET STOWAWAY - CH.2 TAKE THE LADDER TO NOWHERE

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.2 - TAKE THE LADDER TO NOWHERE

By R.A. HUNTER

Malloy’s voice booms from behind you, you can’t understand what he’s saying but that really isn’t your concern now. You consider the door to your right. With all of that noise there might be something heavy in there that you could use for a weapon but there are almost certainly grinding gears into which Malloy could easily chuck you if he so desired. You don’t even want to think about the room to your left.

You choose the ladder.

You close the distance in seconds jumping up onto the third rung of the ladder and not pausing to think before you begin your climb. You look up at the circular opening five rungs above you. You still can’t make out where it leads; all you can see is a sea of white.

You pop your head through the opening but don’t stop until the rest of you is through as well. At last you step off of the ladder and turn to look around. You discover you are in a large, round room painted a sterile white, unblemished saved for several cans strewn about the floor and surrounded by dots.

You walk carefully over to one of the dots and crouch to examine it. It appears to be a bean. Timidly, you reach out and pluck the dot from the floor. Indeed it is a bean and it is cool to the touch. It is a cool bean. You are surrounded by hundreds of cool beans.

Actually, you’d go as far as to say that they are cold beans. Very cold.

Well, you think to yourself, I suppose this goes a long way toward explaining the stench downstairs, but what’s the deal with all of these beans?

You step over to a can. No surprise, it once contained beans. You pick it up but drop it immediately when it is so cold that it burns you. It shatters to the floor.

“There you are,” Malloy’s voice growls from behind you.

You turn and see his head poking up through the opening. You can tell by his bare shoulders that he hasn’t bothered with a shirt and you wonder for a moment what the view is like from below.

“What’s up with the beans, Malloy?” you ask, forgetting for a moment that you are running for your life from this man.

“You didn’t expect us to just sit up here unprotected because the president wants to make nice with the grays, did ya?”

“So you froze a bunch of beans for protection?”

Malloy sneers. Good God, that must be what he looks like when he’s happy.

“The beans were just target practice,” he says. “But now we’ve got something much better.” Malloy offers one last sneer before turning and climbing back down the ladder.

For a long moment you are alone in the room. Suddenly, there is a whine of a hidden motor and a dozen doors open in the wall. Twelve men step into the room. They’re wearing helmets and goggles, which hide their identities, and are carrying white, bulbous rifles with blue streaks swirled on them.

The first man sneers so much like Malloy he could be his son. The thought of that man reproducing sends a chill down your spine.

“Do us a favor,” the sneering man says. “We’ve had nothing to shoot but bean cans. Run around a little, make it interesting.”

You stand dumbly. Your brain can’t process what your ears are hearing.

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. He nods at the guy next to him who hoist his rifle to his shoulder and fires.

A beam -- the same color blue as the swipe on the rifle -- flies out of the barrel and hits you in the left arm. You scream as cold fire swallows up you left side. The force of the blast pushes you against the back wall. Colliding against it, the appendage you once used to write with and, on certain nights, used to relieve a little tension, shatters.

You gape at the cavity which was once your shoulder. Since the initial burning faded to numbness, there is no feeling. No physical feeling anyway. Inside you feel violated and betrayed -- but a surprisingly large part of you wants to yell, “That was awesome!”

Before you can do anything, though, another blasts freezes your leg. It shatters under your own weight, sending you careening through the ladder opening and crashing in a heap on the floor below.

“Good, I was hoping to get at least one in,” Mallow growls from somewhere to your right.

You turn your head and immediately wish you hadn’t when you discover the shirt isn’t the only piece of clothing Malloy decided not to bother with.

Your last thought as Malloy raises his own rifle is, Why does his junk have to be the last thing I ever see?

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2