Harry Feedle was not like other men. Harry Feedle loved to
wash his hands, especially after going to the toilet. He could often spend the
best part of twenty minutes scouring and de-bacterializing every millimetre of
the aforementioned articles all the way up to his elbows. He would then
lovingly let them linger in the Sani-dry until they were as moisture-less as
the Sahara . After which he would cream them
admiringly for another good few minutes. All in all it would take him the
better part of half an hour to have a pee.
He was just busy pulling his sleeve down over his right
hand as a sock so he could open the door without touching any of the
contaminated surfaces when it burst in on him, striking him on the nose with
such momentum that he was knocked tip over arse. Dazed by the concussion he
found himself being rolled over onto his stomach and his gloriously clean hands
cuffed behind him. He tilted his head up to see what was going on. It was a
sight he would remember for the rest of his days.
Sweet Mary, with her wide staring baby-doll eyes, her hair
(usually carefully coiffed) all akimbo like a lopsided haystack, her scarlet
lipstick smudged in a raw slash across her cheek, looked more like the bride of
Frankenstein than a pretty call-girl. The whole effect was nicely rounded off
by her holding hands with the world’s tallest, blackest, near naked and
pop-eyed Rasta man in waist level dirty dreadlocks.
Mrs Darck, for her part was making a valiant effort not to
look like a chicken in distress. She did however do some concerted clucking
before she could get a few words out.
“But…but…but…but….Will they be alright?”
The ever attentive Officer Angelo was busy paddling her
palm as he cooed calmingly into her ear. Men are such fools when they fall in
love.
“Don’t worry; they’re going to be alright. It’s only a
stun gun.”
Dutch caught his caring ministrations and smiled to
herself. ‘As long as he doesn’t try to impress her by being a hero,’ she thought
and looked around the room to get her bearings. Along one wall were cabinets
and hangars with an array of biosuits and helmets, oxygen tanks and various
gloves and magnetic boots. She ignored the Jet packs. They’d be too bulky to
lug around, but the biosuits and helmets would come in useful.
“Alright everyone. Strip,” she said, unhooking a few
biosuits and handing them out. No-one moved. They all stared at her with
quizzical expressions on their faces.
“Er, strip?” asked Rose, quite sure she had misheard her.
“All your clothes off,” said Dutch. “And I mean ALL;
otherwise the biometrics in the suit won’t work.”
“Naked?” enquired Sweet Mary in a rather timid voice.
“We have about twenty seconds before reinforcements come
crashing in through that door. Now get busy or else I’ll do it for you.”
Everyone sprang into action and got dressed in record
time, Officer Angelo and Rose trying to make it very obvious that they weren’t
peeking at each other, but each of them blushing like a ripe tomato.
“Leave your old clothes on the floor and follow me.” Dutch
had already opened the airlock that led to the ship and waved at them with the
gun to step through.
“Can I take my handbag?” asked Sweet Mary, clutching the
article to her chest for dear life. The whole world could fall to pieces but
she would survive anything if she had her bag.
“Me too?” asked Rose.
Dutch stared into two pairs of pleading eyes and nearly
blew a gasket. Nearly, but not quite. She herself had never picked up the
habit, but she knew that Sweet Mary’s sanity at the moment probably depended on
her handbag.
“Okay. But let’s hurry it up.”
They stood at the end of the tubular walkway that
connected the ship to the station like an umbilical chord. “Come on. Get
moving,” said Dutch, and the walkway creaked and swayed slightly as the first
person stepped tentatively through the door.
“Go!” shouted Dutch as two quick muffled explosions behind
them signalled the arrival of the troops and suddenly the little group were
running heedlessly down the swaying tunnel, arms flailing this way and that to try
and keep their balance. That no-one fell was a miracle.
And then they were in the airlock, gasping and groping for
something to hold onto or sit on. Dutch hit the release button and the outer
hatch closed. Impatiently she waited for the pressure to equalize. They weren’t
out of the woods yet. The Guards could still open the door via remote control.
The atmospheric indicator went green: pressure and oxygen optimum. She stabbed
her finger at the inner hatch button.
After what seemed an eternity the inner hatch bleeped and opened
with a hiss and a sigh. This was what Dutch had been waiting for. In her left
pocket she held the silver teaspoon she had taken from Rose’s cup. She took it
out and jammed it into the bolt hole of the locking mechanism. She bent the
spoon over and wedged it solidly into place. Now the inner hatch couldn’t be
closed by remote control….and more importantly, the outer one couldn’t open.
No-one could get in, and no-one could get out. This was a standard safety
protocol built into all ships. One or other door had to remain closed at all
times in case the outer door was exposed to the vacuum and you got sucked out
into space.
“That’ll do for now,” said Dutch. “Alright, everyone into
the ship. You, Rose, you know where the bridge is?”
Rose sort of nodded her head but wasn’t very sure of
anything at the moment.
“You and Sweet Mary go first, then Righteous. Angelo you
stay in front of me. And don’t spread out. Keep in a bunch and walk slowly.”
WILL THEY MAKE IT? WHO KNOWS. BE SURE NOT TO MISS THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT.
