The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,80

shake off the cat. Slag was having none of that. He hung from Harkins' hand by his teeth, scrabbling for purchase with his claws. Harkins trilled an operatic wail, eyes wide as he stared in horror at the black, furry mass attached to him. Then his hand clamped around Slag's belly and tore him away, along with a chunk of finger. Slag found himself lobbed down the corridor towards the engine room, the taste of blood in his mouth. A seasoned warrior, he flipped in the air, landed on his feet, and charged back for more.

Harkins was running away down the corridor, his wounded hand clutched to his chest. Just then the female, Jez, stepped out of her quarters, holding a pistol.

'Harkins! Hey, are you alright?'

Harkins let out an incoherent blubber of terror and pushed past her, heading for the cargo stairs. Slag skidded to a halt. The female was standing between him and his prey. He hated this one. She made him afraid. The mere sight of her was enough to get his hackles up. She was wrong. Not natural. Unknown.

'Will you quit tormenting him?' she snapped at Slag. Slag just hissed at her. After a moment, she shrugged and went back into her quarters. 'I give up. I've got my own problems.'

As soon as the door to her quarters was shut, Slag raced down into the cargo hold. Harkins had reached the lever that activated the ramp. As Slag came thumping down the steps, he pulled it. Hydraulics whined as the ramp began to open. Harkins looked over his shoulder and saw the cat approaching.

'Stay away from me!' Harkins shrieked, pressing himself up against the bulkhead of the Ketty Jay as if he could melt through it. 'Get . . . just get away!'

He bolted for the gap that was opening at the end of the cargo ramp. Slag ran to intercept, but at the last moment Harkins threw himself down and rolled sideways, slipping out through the gap. There was a short squeal and a heavy thump as he hit the ground.

Slag went to the edge of the ramp and looked down. Harkins was getting painfully to his feet a couple of metres below, staggering away across the grass. He went a short distance, stopped, and turned back.

The ramp bumped on to the ground. Beyond was tarmac. Slag sniffed it distrustfully, then recoiled a step. He glared at Harkins.

'Ah!' Harkins gloated, bloody but defiant. 'Can't come out, can you? Think you're so special! Try and get me out here on the landing pad!'

Slag didn't understand the words, but something in Harkins' manner told him he was being taunted. He didn't like that one bit.

He peered out from the cargo ramp. Beyond it, everything was unfamiliar. The hard comfort of grimy metal and oil was replaced with strange textures and smells. Air so fresh that it felt like it was barely there at all. Frightening shapes loomed in the brighdy lit darkness, big things with wings and fat bodies, like colossal metal flies. Behind them were sinister dwellings, their windows glowing.

Overhead, Slag could see the night sky to either side of the Ketty Jay's tail assembly. It was black and speckled with strange lights. Something told him that there wasn't any roof up there. What kept the lights from falling down?

The world outside was too big, too overwhelming. But still, there was his enemy, his punishment incomplete. He was dancing around and pulling faces now.

Slag focused all his concentration on Harkins. The way he did when he stalked rats. The world didn't exist. There was only him, and his prey.

He took a step forward. And another. His paw touched the tarmac.

Harkins yelped, turned tail and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, away into the night.

Slag left the paw where it was until Harkins was out of sight, then drew it back. He sat on his haunches and began to groom himself, one eye on the landing pad. A satisfactory encounter, all in all. His dominance had been asserted. No need to venture out there, not when he was master of his own domain. What he had was quite enough.

Pleased, he settled down to guard the entrance. Let that scrawny one try and come back tonight. Slag would show him what a real predator could do.

'Get up.'

Crake surfaced into awareness, found it unbearably terrible, and sank back towards sleep again.

'Crake! Get up!'

Someone shook him. His eyes fluttered open. A dark bedroom, plush and unfamiliar. Frey stood