A/N: I say "breast" in this chapter. This has nothing to do with mammaries. I prefer my Irkens without boobies, the same way I prefer my uncles without boobies.
I have to stress a bit of a worry. This story seems to be headed in a direction that makes it more picaresque than plotful. I'm hoping we're all ok with that. If not, then I don't care. Thank you for your time. Oh jeebus, I'm being rude huh? Apologies, I'm recovering from a shitty haircut. So now, in the midst of my battle with muscle-crippling influenza, I bring unto thee, CHAPTER SEIS!
Toodles.
Chapter VI – Attack of the Space Chicken Man
The longer I thought on my predicament, the more miserable I became. It was two days before Mistress even spoke to me again. I became a little crazy in those two days.
The cuffs weren't helping, either. My arms had passed the point of agonizing pain, soon I doubted that they'd ever move at my command again. They could fall off and I wouldn't take notice.
Every so often (after I'd lost some fear of the alien), I'd shimmy off the bench to stretch my legs and restore the feeling to my rear end. The draftsman and engineer were successful in creating this chamber if their plot was to centralize the flow of my blood to my squeedly spooch. As a result of this, my innards throbbed and ached in every grueling, nauseating possible fashion. Watching the snarling Gwar alien eat, it was especially difficult for me to keep my fluids down.
I gauged that Gwar was male, simply by the gluttonous manner in which he consumed his gray, curdled slop. Mistress and I—female— never ate like that. After making that assumption, my standard of males seemed decreased…
…Which Mistress would have seen as a step in the right direction, her being a sexist radical through and through.
But as I said, it was two days before she would so much as let loose a sigh.
She stripped my bandages off without forewarning and turned away without a comment. Then she sighed.
I surveyed her. The expression I'd come to fear the most, that portrayal of vacancy was etched into her features. When she entered the thought process, Mistress tossed aside all other matters. She didn't spare one brain cell, which is why her face was devoid of the scowl she usually so masterfully displayed. She slouched and contorted oddly, only the top of her back supported, so that the bolt in her Pak met the wall at an ugly angle.
Eventually, she felt my gaze. She didn't look to me, though. She said in a breath, "This is my fault, Skibby."
That was the way she was. She'd admit her errors and take blame, but never give an apology. I would have liked for her to give one right then, so I straightened up and tried to look attentive. I knew better though. I was cursed with the hope of a fool.
"It was wrong of me not to tell you about the Irken."
My shoulders lowered. I sought to console, "You couldn't have known it would end up this way."
"Ha! I knew all along that it would."
I wasn't sure how to respond. I half expected her to admit that her pride was what kept her from telling me about our home planet. I then made a mental note not to think that way of her and scorned myself. Overwhelmed by this conversation, my eyes drifted to Gwar, asphyxiated in his abysmally wide basin of curd-paste.
What an ugly thing to behold. He had a dark, green-gray complexion and small brown eyes with long cloven pupils set deep under his cliff-like brow on his disproportional thin face. His teeth were yellowed, blunt and assembled in rows after row. I suppose in comparison, you might find his body structure similar to that of a plucked chicken's, sans beak. His arms were short, but bursting with muscle; it looked very unnatural, like at one point in time they'd been in scale with the rest of him, but they shriveled up somehow. The underside of those arms, the side we were unfortunately most exposed to because of the shackles, was paler than the rest of his body and sown with thick, innumerous hairs.
I wondered how Gwar thought. I would have spoken to him had he not scared, disgusted, or spoke a different language.
In those days, I was very ignorant to what makes a person. I suppose you could even say I was shallow, but could you blame me? Gwar was stupid simply because he looked stupid and ate stupid. Strangely, I think I might have been aware to the irrationality of my assumptions, but my assumptions were all that I had.
Mistress cleared her throat, trying to be unobtrusive about it. I faced her, but her back was to me. Eventually, she got up and sauntered over to a corner of the cell where the mech was still planted in its hatch. I would have followed her, but she was making weird, choking sounds.
In the thirty-eight years I'd known her, that was the first time I saw her cry. Her back tensed with every awkward sob and her fingers flailed, curling and mantling, in her restraints. She fought against those tears, but couldn't hold them at bay.
Scared, I drew my shackled legs close to my chest. I suddenly felt very stupid. I shouldn't have been excited to see my planet. I just left a perfectly good life on Retreatia. We were going to pay for what we had done, probably with our bloodshed (or through whatever method Irkens killed each other with). Was I really prepared to die?
My foolish optimism spoke without my asking it to. It wondered if by some crazy twist of fate that we'd be set free, and that the allegations would be dropped. Maybe that was asking a little much. I told my optimism to be reasonable. The best case scenario would have us escaping the ordeal with the slightest punishment, something like janitorial services. Still, though I didn't know many Irkens, Mistress had an obscured opinion of what "slight" meant.
Mistress was extreme, the Tallest were extreme, the officers were extreme…
Oh yes, the officers. They had proven themselves to be quite the interesting team. One was senior to the other, in age and in position. I believe his name was Nache. Officer Nache, always in the passenger's seat of the vessel, at least he always was when they checked up on us. The collar of his uniform obscured the view of his mouth, adding to the intimidation factor. It seemed he had no reason to be aboard other than to instruct, observe, and right the various wrong doings of his pupil, who's name was Ram.
Ram was a little overconfident in light of the many fouls he made. In fact the only time Ram's doings pleased Nache was when he spontaneously utilized the monitor to throw insults at us; which was interesting because none of the insults were well thought-out, clever, nor eloquently delivered. They weren't even insults really, just observable commentaries on our appearance. Even more interesting is that he was of the same species and pointed out a lot of characteristics that were distinct in himself. It brought a whole new meaning to the Earth saying, "it takes one to know one". It was a little maddening, not because it hurt, because it didn't. It was the fact that Nache thought it was funny; though we couldn't see his smile, his eyes would squint and wrinkle in that raspy chortle of his.
When they spoke to Gwar, he responded by shrieking alien curses (I assume) at the monitor.
I was shy of everything, so I didn't say a word when they spoke in Irken, just let my annoyance compile. Mistress did nothing short of blink.
I wondered how much anger she'd congested her head with over the past few days before releasing it all in tears. I wondered how long it took for the reality of our situation to fully seep in. I couldn't look at her that way. It was almost disgusting. She hated it when I cried, and now, it seemed that was true vice-versa. I felt too many things when she cried. Distress because she was making annoying sounds, deceit because she made herself out to be the type who never cried, debate because I didn't know if I should console her or not, and of course, I felt defective compassion. (A/N: Repetition of initial "D" sounds!)
In response to all that, I tried to stay blind to the twitchy sight of her, but a huge "BOM" sound, like a mallet pounding a hollowed metal shell made me look in that direction. I saw Mistress wobble, whip and hit the side of the mech with a whap, and then collapse to the floor face first.
Oh me. She was unconscious.
I rushed (that term used lightly) over, oblivious to Gwar behind me. I turned her over. A large bruise tinctured the skin on her brow. I felt, and there was a faint pulse in her wrist. Relief…until…
Gwar issued a snort. I turned to find him behind me, weird eyes transfixed on Mistress. Slowly, he backed away from the scene and eventually stopped when the wall drew too near. He pawed the ground (uncannily chicken-like) and situated into the proper stance. Spontaneously, he charged at us, his weight focused at his upper chest.
Fear of that kind I'd not felt since the incident a few days ago in the spittle runner, but this time, there was something that could be done to prevent a catastrophe.
Pitiful, defective little me didn't know that Irkens like to subscribe to the concept of "every man for himself". But even if I had time to evaluate the situation, I wouldn't have pondered that.
In an impromptu act, I wrenched Mistress's limp body out of Gwar's line of trajectory, but not with any real ease. His huge form meteored into the exact place where Mistress had been only seconds before. Idiot creature. Clearly he didn't consider what tactics his opposition might make use of, however small. Now he struggled uselessly on the floor for a while, his ineptly stubby legs fighting desperately against the floor to lift him while his arms tensed in futility. This bought me some time. I now began to search for some means of defense. I was clueless to his intentions, but I was willing to defend to my strength's limits.
Our Paks were made essentially unusable. A quick look around found me nothing but an extra sheet of steel that didn't make it into the final configuration of the ship. If I don't say so myself, a paltry tool that would have been overlooked in any other situation, but it could do as a makeshift shield. I rushed to retrieve it. Not at all was it a convenient size. It was almost too big for me to move, but too small to effectively shield the both of us. Still, I made do and dragged it to the scene where Mistress was.
Gwar eventually got up, and when he caught sight of me, it seemed he recognized what I was trying to do and began to circle Mistress and I; awkward little shifty steps. Frightened, I set the shield below eye-level and pivoted to meet his dubious path. He'd make false advances and I'd flinch. Then I knew I had no chance. Finally, he charged.
I shrunk down and cowered behind the shield, my short, scrawny, restrained arms the only thing propping it up. The metal vibrated, but didn't give way. I peeped over the top to find Gwar attacking the thing rather than shoving it out of the way; but by doing so, I lost the force holding up the sheet and it and I fell back on top of Mistress. The edge of it rested right against my breast. I dared not to look when my ribs shattered.
Gwar took a big swipe with his clawed foot. My ribs didn't snap, but I found quickly that breathing was a labored task.
In all the excitement, I hardly took heed to the red luminescence that filled, and died in, and again filled the room.
"WARNING: AUTOMATED ALERT. EXCESSIVE ACTIVITY IN PRISONER CELL." That booming, one-tone, dissonant electronic voice upset my antennae. I bellowed, but the noise spared me a devastating blow from the alien.
When he found it best to ignore the ship's reaction, Gwar lifted the sheet off of me, fell back a short distance and stomped in anticipation to crush us both.
Just then, the ceiling buzzed, and I discovered a large duct that apparently had always been there. A little light near it turned on and its pod bay doors spread open. On a conveyer platform, Nache and Ram were lowered down to us, both of them brandishing a long stick that was perch to a large, white egg-shaped object. The Officers were shorter than I expected, this being the first time I met them in person. This was the first time I'd met any Irken besides Mistress in person. My stupid wonderment got the best of me and I lost time to dodge Gwar, who knocked me off of Mistress harshly and got poised to stomp on her. I remember screaming something.
The officers rushed toward Gwar just before he raised his heavy foot over Mistress's already wounded head. With a great combined effort, they managed to force him against the wall, but not without getting knocked away several times. From Nache's egg-topped staff, he withdrew a huge needle as Ram held fast to the alien's neck with both hands, bio-limbs scraping the floor to steady himself as Gwar writhed. Next, Nache stabbed Gwar's meaty underarm with the needle. It penetrated slowly and made a crackling noise. That species had thick and rugged skin. I stretched my neck to watch a translucent liquid descend the cylinder it was in and into Gwar's system.
I'd always been fascinated by the effectiveness of tranquilizers. The screw-heads often fell victim to our needles. In such a case, their heads went limp and their eyes dimmed, but always slowly, almost gracefully.
Gwar? He rolled his tiny eyes into his thick skull and toppled over, like an immense spinning top after losing momentum, and the floor shook when he made impact. The officers left him there and rushed to Mistress, who was the most unscathed of any of us in the room, self-afflicted head wounds aside. I arose and limped to stand near the action.
"W-will she be alright?" I regretted having spoken up immediately and shrunk into myself a little. Bad idea. My ribs were tender since that blow from Gwar. I shuddered when they looked down at me, which didn't win me any sympathy.
The two of them eyed me and looked to one another quizzically. Ram dwarfed his instructor by a few inches, I so vitally observed at this time.
They seemed confused with how to answer me. I don't think that they completely expected that I would know how to speak.
"We're taking her to the care unit." Ram articulated. Dually they lifted her and hobbled back to the conveyer platform. In a matter of seconds, they were gone.
Though ravaged, I darted to take my seat near the monitor. Again, I wouldn't allow my back to face Gwar, despite the fact that he was presently out cold.
I was alone, and worse, hungry. Mistress hadn't shared a nutrient upload with me in days.
A/N: Confusion? Hexa got really mad at herself and banged her head against the mech's surface, resulting in a concussion. As for the "nutrient upload" thing, I derived that from the commentary on the episode "Germs". Jhonen says that Irkens don't need food, they get everything from their Paks. Skibby isn't networked to the nutrient…giver…so she has to rely on the generosity of Hexa. Unfortunately, generous Hexa is a bit of an oxymoron. Tha End.