Jackpot!
25 Mar 2016Terra Sheer
"Well, well. Would you look at that, Jack! We bagged ourselves a little fishy on ice!"You know you're in dire straits when a voice like that sounds angelic. Big. Gravelly. A lot of other adjectives that shouldn't apply to the sound of a voice, but when they do, it's almost never a good thing. People who sound like that are never up to any good.
I try to open my eyes, but I can't. No telling how long it's been. How long have I been out? Did the scarab arm thing work? Did I get the fuel scoop open? Must have, or I'd be dead. Maybe I am dead. It sure seems like this is what dead ought to feel like.
Somebody's moving me ... which is weird, because I travel alone. It's hard to get any real sense of place or presence through the profound numbness that's consumed me. But there are lights moving around me. Sounds of motion. And ... what is that godawful smell?
Another voice seems to wonder the same thing. Higher. Smaller. Shrill and slurring, like a drunk weasel drowning in a mud puddle. "What the hell, Sam? You forget to take your shower this month?"
"Sorry, Jack. Those asps are big, you know? It takes muscle, moving them. All that straining ... makes a stink."
"The only muscle you ever strain is the one in your head. You gotta learn. You gotta smell nice for the ladies, man."
Their accents click. I remember where I've heard voices like theirs before.
"Ain't no ladies here, Jack. 'Least ... not for much longer."
Kumo.
Son of a bitch. I've been rescued by slavers.
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