By A. R. Hildebrand
I pulled the handcuffs from my belt and turned to the drug dealer, whom my partner held at gunpoint. The guy had somewhere in the area of twenty-seven arms and depending on what family he was from might have another—usually with a gun—hiding up one of his noses. I groaned.
Going from being a cop in New York to keeping track of low-lifes some thirteen thousand light-years past Pluto has to be the worst form of culture shock. Then again, everyone here is dealing with that. Under my breath, I cursed the delusional, lop-antlered being that had dropped us all here. When you’re the size of a planet, you seem to think you can get away with anything.
On a globe like ours—patched together from pieces of a hundred different worlds—the sheer diversity of individuals you’ll meet in a day makes choosing the proper gear to carry impossible. And presumptuous. I would never be able to restrain this guy with one pair of handcuffs. Maybe an officer in the area had a Xismon restrainer.
“If I find enough bracelets to cuff this guy, will you promise to frisk him?” I whispered to my partner, Jackedes.
He nodded, all three eyes as big as dinner plates. As I reached for my radio, Jackedes sneezed.
The crook grabbed a nearby trash can lid and flung it at my partner’s head, knocking him to the ground. Another of his hands popped open a vial and moved it to his lips.
I lunged forward, tripped over a stray squid, and knocked the perp to the ground. Wrenching the empty glass from his fingers, I checked the label. Damn.
I grabbed my radio off the ground. “This is Officer Smith! I’m in the alley behind the jeweled crab shop on Triggan Street. I need someone here with a stomach pump sooner than possible!”
The dealer at my feet began to writhe. The bacteria from that vial must have been gathering nutrients, growing at a fantastic rate, absorbing cells and tissue from its host. The criminal began to gag. It was too late to get the substance out—it was coming up of its own volition.
The drug dealer seized up and vomited a small white grub, about three inches long, onto the alley floor.
“Ah, the miracle of life,” I muttered. I pulled my gun from its holster and fired into the larva. Bending down, I checked the dealer. He’d make it to his court date.
As I reach down for him, a trash can crashed over. I looked from the empty spot where the grub had lain moments before to the six-legged creature the size of a dog rooting around in the bin. Crap! I hadn’t killed it.
Sluggy finished eating the garbage—can and all—and trotted out of the alley, growing larger every moment and preparing to eat everything in sight. My partner stumbled to his feet as I took off.
“Look after the dealer!” I yelled.
Rounding the corner, I screamed into my radio, “Get every available unit to my position, now!”
Sluggy, already the size of a hippo, had smashed through the front of a store and was happily munching down aisles three and four. He raised his head, half a case of Shamarian desert lobster hanging from his jaws, sniffed the breeze, and turned to look at a group of pedestrians huddled together up the street. He dropped the lobster and lumbered toward what he saw as his next meal.
I had to do something, and fast. So I did what I knew best—raised my gun and fired. The shot wouldn’t kill, but it might distract him.
The bullet slammed into Sluggy’s neck. He skidded to a stop. His head whipped around, eyes filled with fire.
I waved my arms. “Hey, Lumpy! Over here!”
He galloped toward me. I racked my brain for a plan, but all the turning gears managed to spit out was run like heck!
I took off down the street. Just then, a solution pulled up—well, more lumbered up—to the corner bus stop.
This vehicle’s back was a normal bus, but the front had been cut off and attached to a large Vought. When I say “Vought,” think “bad-tempered turtle meets Sherman tank.” While we have some normal buses here, in less developed parts of the city, gas is expensive, so companies have improvised.
I ran toward the corner and fired three shots in rapid succession. The muzzle covering the pseudo-bus’s large jaws thumped to the street. Dropping to the ground, I dove through the creature’s legs. Just behind me, Sluggy blindsided the Vought. The bus let out a bellow, turned, and bit down on my pursuer with his bulldog-like jaws—well, provided your bulldog’s the size of a mammoth.
I scrambled to a safe distance, then halted and watched the bus’s handlers try to convince him to drop the lifeless corpse. This sort of thing would only happen here—a creature, brought to life by a criminal to wreak havoc, eaten by the public transportation system.
Ah, the life of a space cop.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“tripped over a stray squid” –> Love it!
Great imagery – I can picture being there, but don’t want to be, but was glad to have been there…
A new way to be swallowed up by the public transport system.
That was hilarious!
This was so unique! I love your imagination!
Oh my goodness, I would NOT want to be him. Regular people are hard enough, let alone crazy multi armed, slug beasts. XD