Respect

By A. C. Williams

Whose bright idea was it to stuff a giant venomous lizard in a transport shuttle and ferry it to the outer asteroid belt?

Well, whoever’s problem it started as, it was Holt’s problem now. A ten-foot-long, 300-pound problem.

Just another Tuesday on the Wolf Station Zoological Habitat of the Outer Asteroid Belt.

Holt pressed his back against the cold supersteel bulkhead and checked the charge in his pulse rifle.

“What are you doing with that?” Yonas interrupted him sharply.

He rolled his eyes at the tall black man cowering in the shadows on the other side of the corridor. “What’s it look like, Yonas?”

Yonas was a talented biological historian, but facing flesh-and-blood beasts in real life was a lot scarier than reading about them on a datapad. And Yonas was from New Mekelle, the Ethiopian settlement on Ganymede. Datapads were all they had.

“Komodo dragons are endangered, Holt. You can’t shoot it!”

“Sure I can.” Holt tipped his hat back with a smirk. “That’s why the station hired me, remember?”

“You’re a veterinarian. Not a cowboy!”

“Same difference.” Holt leaned out into the corridor and strained his ears for skittering razor-sharp talons.

The giant lizard had gotten loose and killed the two members of the transport crew en route from Mars. Holt had closed the shuttle out of respect, even though all that remained of them was bloody pieces the lizard hadn’t eaten yet.

Now he had to get the lizard under control before it attacked the rest of the zoo. And maybe before it ate one of the idiot patrons on the promenade level.

Yonas muttered to himself, anxiously pushing his thick glasses up his nose.

“How about you go hide at central?” Holt patted the side of the rifle. “I can handle a dumb lizard.”

Yonas scoffed. “You can’t just kill it.”

Holt opened his coat. “I’m going to tranq it.”

“Tranquilizers are unreliable.”

“I’m the vet here.”

“And I am the biological historian,” Yonas snapped. “This is why I was hired.”

Ahead, a rough rasping noise echoed off the metal walls. Leathery hide scraped against rusted steel floor grates.

Holt narrowed his gaze. Maybe he was imagining it, but he was certain he could see the lizard’s long, forked tongue in the darkness ahead, slipping out to taste the shadows.

Holt shifted forward into the corridor. Yonas slunk behind him.

“It will wait for us to come closer.” Yonas breathed in Holt’s ear. “Then it will attack. You will fail.”

“Maybe you could offer something useful?” Holt ground his teeth together. “Or is teamwork not something they teach you on New Mekelle?”

A low-pitched snarl shook the air.

Yonas clutched Holt’s shoulder. “There is a way, but you won’t like it.”

“What is it?”

The young biologist sighed. “Open the shuttle. Corral it back inside.”

Holt scowled. “I closed it. It’s still full of—” He paused. “Oh.”

Yonas pointed to his ear comm unit. “MacTavish can open the shuttle door from the command center.” He cleared his throat. “Komodo dragons eat primarily carrion.”

Holt whirled on him. “Carrion? Those were people in that shuttle!”

“Yes, they were.” Yonas pinned him with a sober expression. “But they are not people now.”

“You’re hopeless,” Holt growled. “Have some respect for the dead, Yonas.”

“I respect the dead.” Yonas smiled sadly. “But I respect the living more.”

Holt flared his nostrils. The biologist was right, but… “Worst idea ever.”

“It’s that, or we risk it getting loose in the livestock exhibit. Komodo dragons do have a fondness for water buffalo.”

Holt grunted.

If he had to choose between facing a venomous dragon or Professor Amelia Birdwhistle-Fernsby in the defense of her water buffalo, he’d pick the dragon every time.

Even if the strategy turned his stomach.

“Fine.”

Holt pushed his hat back and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He pointed Yonas to an adjoining corridor.

“You stay put. Tell me if it follows.” Holt pulled his hunting knife.

“What are you—?”

Holt sliced his palm open, blood dripping on the floor. He winced at the dull, hemorrhaging ache.

“Holt, no, it will catch your scent!”

Somewhere in the shadows, the hissing increased.

“Wish me luck.” Holt spun on his boot and raced back toward the shuttle dock.

“You’re insane!” Yonas shouted after him.

Holt switched on his ear radio. “MacTavish, come in. I need your help here!”

The floor grates creaked and groaned as he ran.

“Holt.” Ewan MacTavish’s brogue came over the comm line. “Status?”

“Open the shuttle dock door.”

“Do what?”

“Trust me!”

“It hasn’t been cleaned.”

“That’s the point, MacTavish!”

A thunderous skittering sound rattled the air behind him, an awkward thumping and swishing and hissing.

The comm buzzed with Yonas’s cry of alarm. “It’s coming, Holt!”

Holt sprinted until his legs felt like jelly, and the hissing snarl behind him grew only louder.

MacTavish cursed over the comm. The dock door wheezed open just as it came into view. Even from here, Holt could smell death inside the shuttle.

Just before he reached the threshold, he dove into the adjoining corridor, scrambling around a corner.

Moments later, the lizard scurried through the intersection, massive tail swinging to balance its charge. It lunged into the shuttle.

Holt surged forward and slammed his throbbing hand against the locking mechanism, leaving a perfect bloody print. The door closed.

Inside the shuttle, the lizard thrashed frantically, hissing and screeching like some ancient demon.

Holt sank to the floor grates, gasping, his breath rattling in his overworked lungs.

“Holt?” MacTavish shouted in his ear.

“Fine.” Holt sagged against the door, ignoring the sounds inside. “Done.” He tore a strip off his shirt and tried to wrap his injury.

Yonas slid into view and knelt at Holt’s side. He took the cloth and bound Holt’s hand for him.

“Teamwork?” Yonas offered a smile.

Holt opened and closed his bandaged fist, meeting Yonas’s eyes.

Maybe the kid wasn’t hopeless after all.

Holt tipped his hat. “Respect.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A.C. Williams is an author and entrepreneur who loves cats, country living, and all things Japanese. She’d rather be barefoot, and if she isn’t her socks will never match. A proud Hufflepuff, she takes her coffee with cream, her pizza with pineapple, and her stories with spaceships. Follow her travel adventures with Hermes the Frog on social media.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter