The Betwixt Book One (6 page)

Main power had obviously been switched off in this section, as
the lights were dim and apparently running off secondary feeds.
Which was the worst thing I could think of. Darkness was one thing
– but darkness didn't show up the shadows. Dim light, on the other
hand, made shadows deep, and in some places indistinguishable from
the light.

It didn't help that this engineering room would probably have
been creepy even in the full light of day, packed with happy
smiling nuns, teddy bears, cupcakes, and other things that
generally posed little threat. It was old, and the style of panels
and railings was of the jutting, painful corner kind. The ship's
core was a megalith that pulsed bone-shatteringly in the center of
the room. The pallet was of browns and military grays. It felt like
walking through some stark, unstable cave.

I wanted to ask 'what now?’, but my voice had apparently
stayed on the station. I didn't want to make a single noise –
bringing a hoard of Twixts or surprised GAMs my way. But honestly,
what next?

‘
Now,’ apparently the little monk was a mind reader as well as
a hair snatcher, ‘we engage in battle.’

‘
Sorry?’ I found my voice. ‘But I don't have a weapon,’ I
hissed. ‘I don't know how to fight!’

‘
This is a less-than-ideal situation, yes, but we must push
on.’

Push on? This wasn't a minor setback, like forgetting to pack
the forks for the picnic, this was going into a battle with the
most feared monsters in the galaxy with nothing but a diner
uniform!

I started to cast around for a stick, not that I would find a
stick on a space ship, but I needed something that resembled a
weapon. I didn't fancy my chances of winning a fistfight with a
shadow, not that I had any chance of winning anyway.

There was a boom and it translated up through the floor like
an earthquake from below.

‘
What was that?’

‘
The airlock opening,’ the monk said calmly.

‘
That was just the airlock opening?’ Oh lord, I couldn't do
this. I couldn't even stomach the background noises, let alone
engage in the full score of space battle. But something else caught
my ears; something far subtler, something far more worthy of
fear.

It was a hiss – not an intake or expiration of air – something
else. And it was coming from behind me. I didn't think. I wrapped
an arm around the middle of the monk, hauled him forward and out
the engineering doors.

‘
What are you doing?’ his voice bobbed with surprise as I
hurtled down the corridor, more than thankful that the Main
Engineering doors had closed behind us.

‘
It's back there—’ I huffed, my sudden burst of adrenaline
fading. ‘That thing, it's back there!’

And so it had begun. And I was off to a running
start.

‘
We have to go back, we have to face it!’

‘
No!’ I wailed. And it was true, there wasn't anything on this
ship, this station, this entire galaxy, that would see me go back
in that room.

The pricks of electricity had picked up all along my skin, and
now it was more like the energy was discharging from me – flowing
out as if I was a collection of storm clouds on a hot summer's
day.

I ducked into a door to my right, heading for it even before
it had opened fully. I snagged my blouse on the corner and it
ripped cleanly. But I didn't care.

I dropped the monk when my arms just gave way in front of me,
and I fell against a table huffing for breath. We were in the mess
hall, I realized. Which, in a way, was about as familiar ground as
I could hope for on this ship.

‘
We have to go back!’ the monk said, voice quick and
excited.

‘
No, no, no, no – I don't have a weapon!!’ I was shifting back
from the door, watching it like it was literally the Gates of
Hell.

Then I heard the gunfire. In an instant the monk had dashed
over to some com-panel, and suddenly the sounds of the fire-fight
reverberated through the room, as clear and sharp as if they were
happening right here.

‘
What the hell is that?’ someone screamed.

‘
Move back, move back!!’

I put a hand to my mouth. That was Jason, I recognized the
voice – and I couldn't be wrong.

‘
Get out of range, move back—’

The sound of laser blasts cut in, desperate screams just
audible in the background.

No.

Oh no.

‘
You have to get out there, you must go. Only you can see them.
Those men are fighting blind, they will surely perish soon. They
don't have the eyes to look, and their sensors won't help them –
go, go!’

And I went. But I didn't run straight towards the door – I
detoured to the kitchen bar just to the left. I still needed a
weapon. Me running into a firefight was just going to distract the
GAMs into dying quicker. I grabbed at the first thing that came to
hand, which just so happened to be a cast-iron frying pan. Old
school, but they were hardly going to have plasma rifles next to
the vegetables – so it would have to do.

‘
I don't know where they are!’ I shrieked as I made for the
door, frying pan in hand, tattered blouse slipping down at the
arm.

‘
Follow me!’

So I did. I followed the alien monk through the corridors of a
ghost ship to fight the shadows that live in-between things, with
naught but a frying pan.

As we wound through the halls, the sounds of battle increased
till it felt like the whole ship shook with each blast. And the
screams that echoed down the corridor grew till they reverberated
like a church bell by the ear.

Then there was an open doorway before us – its sides jammed
open as an electrical fault on the panel gave off a sea of sparks.
Smoke, shouts, and blasts waited for me within.

I gripped the handle of the frying pan like a devout pilgrim
clutching at their book of god. Oh please, let this-

Something came out, between the sparks and smoke – a shape
headed through the door.

I knew what it was well before it shrieked. It sounded like
the distorted scream of metal fatigue. Even though it filled my
ears to bursting, I could tell that no one heard it but
me.

The sounds of gunfire and shouts didn't cease from the other
room – they continued as wild as ever. They couldn't see that the
creature wasn't there
anymore . . . .

It seemed to pull in on itself for a moment, like the tide
receding as it heralds a tsunami. Then in sprung.

It charged at me, but I threw myself to the side, hoping the
thing's momentum would carry it past me. But it didn't. It stopped
dead in space, as if the laws of physics didn't apply to
shadows.

It jerked towards me, and my hand, much quicker than my brain,
brought the frying pan up in a swinging arc.

It struck home. Somehow, the iron managed to hit the amorphous
dark, and a spark of light erupted from the impact.

This is all people would see, some part of me realized. A
woman in a ripped waitress outfit, swing a pan around till it
struck the invisible and sparked.

I didn't even blink as I brought the pan around for another
serving. This time the creature tipped backwards though, unfettered
by balance, and snapped back into me with impossible speed. Its
body felt like cryo fluid eating my skin, sucking out the heat. It
covered and overwhelmed me like a thousand blankets pushed over my
face.

But I struck out with the pan, bringing it round in a
backhand.

Another spark and the thing stumbled to the side.

‘
Finish it!’ I heard the monk shout over the gunfire that still
rang out.

How? Hit it to death with a frying pan? I may be able to
startle it for bit, but it wasn't alive – how could I kill it? How
was I supposed to overcome this creature with nothing
but . . . .

Call it a vision, call it serendipity, call it the light of a
long lost memory buried somewhere in that other side of me. Light
chases away dark, doesn't it? And sparks, sparks are very powerful,
very sudden sources of light.

If I hit it enough, could that work? Could the sparks it
produced chase it away? It was clear the light snapping from the
broken panel above the doorway did not bother it. Nor did the full
light in my quarters seem to harm the Twixt the monk had shown me.
But that was because they weren't between, were they? But the light
coming from the Twixt's body, that was – those sparks came right
out of the middle. Betwixt light.

The thing rushed for me again. This time I ducked to the side
with a surprising elegance and ease I had never felt before. I
twisted the frying pan around in my grip then brought it into the
full of the thing's back. It let out a spark, brighter than before,
enough to play along the metal of my pan like fire along a
grate.

It dropped to the ground, and for the smallest nanosecond, I
thought that was it. I even leaned forward – which was when it
sprang straight up like one of those old Earth toys – a jack in a
box.

It struck my chest with one of its arms, knocking the air from
me and pitching me backwards into a wall. I couldn't even groan;
didn't have the time, didn't have the breath. And it was still upon
me.

Out of pain and surprise, I dropped the pan onto the ground
and it clanged like a bell toll.

This was it, this was it. It was all over. I was going to die
here . . . I was going to
die . . . 

The human side of me was beside itself - so full of terror, so
full with the idea of impending death that it just ground to a
halt. Which just left . . . .

I slammed my arm forward, palm flat, till it struck the
underside of the thing's chin, forcing it backwards. I dropped to
the ground, rolled like the monk had, and collected the pan as I
pounced to my feet.

I may not have been able to breathe, but that didn't matter. I
may not have been able to think, but that also didn't matter. Some
part of me could still feel and see, and that was all I
needed.

With both hands on the handle I brought the pan around, its
surface vertical, and struck the thing's head with all my
might.

And it sparked, boy did it spark. It was like burning
magnesium, a sudden solar flare, or the light of a
supernova.

The Twixt seemed to wobble then pull in on itself, in a quick
implosion that left nothing but a sharp pop in my ears.

It was . . .
over . . . .

I wobbled myself, stumbling backwards till my back reached the
wall, and I slid down it like water down a windowpane.

I was aware, vaguely aware, that the noises of gunfire and
screams of desperate men had stopped from the other room. The only
sound to break my heavy breathing was the constant spark of the
broken door panel.

I wanted to melt on the spot, every wisp of energy gone. But
the little monk, face alight, rushed towards me. ‘We have to
leave,’ he whispered, ‘before they find us.’

I looked at him, dead as the shadow I'd just slain. Before
they find us? I didn't care . . . I had just fought
a creature that should not exist with a frying pan, and had
won . . . I

He grabbed for my arm and pulled at me with surprising
strength. I stumbled up rather than be tugged along the ground. I
even let him pull me along the corridor, but I dropped the frying
pan. Just let it slip as my sweat caked hands lost all
strength.

‘
Now, now, now,’ the little guy mumbled to himself as he
escorted me along, ‘we've come too far to give up now. You've come
so far. I saw that other half of you, saw the light in her eyes. I
knew it was in you, I knew you were capable of it, with a little
encouragement.’

Encouragement? A pat on the back is encouragement, making me
face off a Twixt with a cooking utensil was attempted
murder.

He took me back to the engine room and back through the
ventilation shaft. But it was all a blur, everything was, up until
the point we made it through the doors to my own quarters and I let
myself sink to the floor.

I was barely aware of Hipop bounding my way, as I just lay
spread-eagled on the faintly cold carpet. He didn't take any notice
of the monk, just hopped right up to my head and started sniffing
at my hair and licking my nose.

I didn't have the heart or energy to push him off.

‘
What a wonderful creature,’ the monk proclaimed placing his
hands together like a devotee at prayer. ‘What name does it
have?’

I let out a soft groan. It wasn't even at the spread of sharp
pain in my chest and the general, suffocating weariness. It was at
the bizarreness of it all. This little alien, whose name I still
did not know, had gotten me back to my quarters after the fight of
the century only to comment on my pet. He should be ministering to
my injuries or explaining exactly what this was about – who I was,
what had happened, what would happen next.

‘
Hi . . . pop,’ I managed.

‘
Hipop, interesting.’