Chapter Four


The pub, known to everyone as The Big Dipper, was crawling with workers from Pheonix who had spent the day slaving away. Miners, technicians, engineers, farmers. Even law enforcement officers were getting drunk. There was loud music, drinking, smoking, and even some prostitution.

This was the average Pheonix night. Donald and Trevor were sitting up at the bar, each of them nursing a third beer. The day had been tiring. They would have come to The Big Dipper earlier except another power loader had sprung a leak. By seven-thirty, both of them had been covered with hydraulic fluid and grease.

But they were here now, and they were ready to get drunk. Trevor finished his third beer and pushed it away. He sighed and looked around the pub. Cigarette smoke had drifted to the ceiling and now a rather dense cloud had formed. The air scrubbers were working overtime to recycle the air, but Trevor knew it was useless. Those scrubbers were old and working at only half capacity. He made a mental note to tear them apart and have a look tomorrow.

"Quit worrying about the scrubbers," Donald muttered.

Trevor turned to his friend. "So you're a mind reader now?"

"Don't have to be," Donald said. "I could see you lookin' at 'em like they were going to be the downfall of humanity and you had to do somethin' about 'em. Don't worry, we'll get to them one of these days."

"Yeah, after we 'get around' to that power loader we don't know what's wrong with it, that toaster that doesn't toast, and that vibrator that don't vibrate."

"Vibrator?" Donald muttered, a smile creeping across his lips.

"Forget it," Trevor said, starting in on a fourth beer. "I'm drunk."

"Shit," Donald said, staring at his own drink. "The brew on this planet is STRONG stuff. Never in my entire LIFE have I ever drank something this strong." He took a sip from the beer. "I can drink a six-pack of the normal stuff and never feel a thing. But THIS..."

Somewhere behind them, somebody fell out of their chair, spilling several drinks. About a dozen drunken workers were now laughing their asses off. No one took notice of the man who had stumbled in. His face and clothes were dirty and he walked like he had had a few too many.

"Help me..." he croaked.

Trevor turned and saw the man approaching. For some reason, and he had no idea why, the sight of the man sent chills up his spine and he was unable to say a word.

"Help me..." the man repeated.

"Go home, Fred," Donald said to the man. "You're drunk. Nancy'll be worried."

Then Trevor realized that it was Fred Wincott, a technician who worked on Level 17. He probably just had a lot to drink, but still...

Suddenly, Fred screamed. The scream was so loud that everyone in the pub heard it, even with the music up loud. In fact, the scream was so loud, that everyone went quiet. The bartender even shut off the music. And there was something about that scream. And when Trevor saw Fred fall to the floor and begin to seizure, he wanted to yell "Get away from him!"

Several workers went to Fred's side and tried to help him. The man's muscles continued to spasm, and he began screaming again, spittle flying from his lips.

Trevor saw it first. The red. It was spreading on Fred's dirty shirt, turning it a dark crimson. Then the tearing sound, and the monster...

Without warning, something exploded out of Fred's chest, splattering more than half a dozen people with warm blood. A small creature, no larger than a small cat, tore itself from the lifeless form and began screeching.

Some people back away, others jumped. The thing pulled away and bounced off of Fred's body. It ran into the crowd, making people scream and run. And then several people vomitted.

Trevor stared for a moment, dazed. The world around him had ceased to exist. All of it had just faded away to darkness, leaving him alone. He then dimly became aware of the blood dripping down his face. Fred's blood.

"Don't let it get away!" Trevor screamed suddenly, coming back to reality. He yelled this so loud that Fred's scream only moments earlier was completely forgotten. And then, before anyone could say anything, Trevor had jumped off of his stool and was running in the direction that the creature had fled.

Trevor pushed his way through the crowd and followed a trail of blood. Every now and then he would spot a small piece of Fred's innards. He ran to the back of the pub and threw himself to the floor.

The trail of blood ended at the opening of a small air vent close to the floor. Trevor peered inside and saw nothing but blackness. He rolled over and put his back up against the wall. He pressed his eyelids shut and shook his head. He was not aware of the dozens of people staring at him.

"It's gone," he muttered. "Jesus Christ, it's gone."