Fiction: The Evil Possum and the Eurypterids, Finale!

 Rounding out the run of fiction with the finale of the Evil Possum adventure. A lot of this is old venting about disability self-advocacy, and the reason I used the possum as an avatar for my old site that someone apparently finally shut down. Here's links for the first and previous installments, and another chapter referenced here. While I'm at it, here's a link for the original Evil Possum adventure, which has a spoiler here that actually came first. Enjoy! Or don't.

Percy gazed up from a 75^th story footbridge between the twin spires of the Aster Plaza, at the spire of the Deck building far, far above. He adjusted his visor to zoom in on the figure leaning on the railing. Both hands gripped the railing, while his feet remained on the floor. He turned to his companions, a blue-haired woman, a bipedal rodent and a towering bird named Dhahka Kaan. “He’s not trying to jump, and he won’t,” he said. “He doesn’t even have an elevated heart rate. But he’s going to be in trouble as soon as the winds rise. The real glitch is, anything we do to get him down will cause more of a disturbance than he already has.”

“I would agree,” said the bird who owned the building. “We have our own measures for situations like this, especially containment of media coverage. But we already allowed broadcasts of the eurypterid infestation, so there were already cameras on the spire.” He looked down at the plaza on the Aster’s ground floor. Banks of screens showed Wes, at just the right distance and angle to leave his identity obscured.

“That can’t be helped, but it won’t hurt,” Percy said. “I’m taking an air cab. O’Keefe, if you know this guy, I want you with me. Tell me, what about those doors?”

“A protocol was triggered to lock them,” Kaan answered. “Mr. Powell clearly figured out an override, but won’t be easy to do a second time. In fact, it’s quite likely that he couldn’t get back in if he tried to.”

“So kaka, as usual,” Percy said. “We can deal with it. Now, what the Hell is going on in that restaurant?”

* * *

A patron of the Mile High was venturing back down the stairs when the 3 meter sea scorpion returned, its feet clattering and clomping on shattered dishes and broken furniture. He quickly retreated, but the creature quickly advanced, drawing shouts and shrieks from others who had ventured to look down. Their cries were still all but drowned out by the continuous wail from Daisy. The eurypterid’s first set of walking were on the steps when yet another shriek rang out. The creature known as No-Hands, El Diablo Sin Mano Derecho, scientific name Archididelphis invicta, was advancing, his mouth gaped almost 90 degrees.

As the scorpion pivoted, the marsupial  snatched up a large serving fork.  He weaved back and forth, jabbing at the creature like a footman with a pike. The tail shifted with each feint until it finally struck, close enough to tear the marsupial’s alligator skin jacket apart. He came rushing in at full speed with the fork upraised. The creature hesitated and even retreated for a moment, before neatly shearing through the fork with its pincer. No-Hands ducked under the claws and came up with his double-barrel shotgun unsheathed. He fired his last two shells in a double blast, half-severing the venomous tail spine.

As he beat his retreat, two gentlemen stepped in, weapons drawn. Their guns did not even look like toys, but something an impoverished child might improvise from discarded packaging. In fact, they were highly advanced gyro pistols with computerized crystalline displays for sights. They fired only a single shot, but that shot was a self-guided rocket that went straight for any target.  The displays quickly highlighted the creature’s carapace, the only part not covered in eggs, and continued to track as the creature darted for the cover of a table. One shot lodged a needle-like flechette in the shell. The other ricocheted after going through the table. There was a single “HA!” as the marsupial popped up again, holding a 1/3^rd scale Panzerfaust. He peered down the sight, calculating the considerable odds that a shot which killed the creature would scatter the eggs and kill him.

At that very moment, a small service elevator opened with a chime. The creature could not turn its head, but it pivoted to face two terrified prep cooks as they wheeled out a cart with a giant pot of boiling water. The creature drew back, ever so slightly. Then, with a hurried and contradictory count, the cooks lifted the pot and heaved it at the creature. At least halt the water missed the eurypterid, to splash along the carpet instead. What hit the eurypterid seemed to do little harm to the creature, which merely thrashed angrily as its color grew mottled. But to the unhatched eggs on its back, the devastation was apocalyptic. Eggs burst dozens at a time, with a sound like twisting bubble wrap. Here and there, more developed young tried to dart for safety, only to succumb in the sloshing puddles of searing water. Some ruptured where they lay with a more substantial crack, repeated dozens and scores of times.

Finally, the eurypterid wheeled about again, to rush straight at the marsupial, too fast and too close for his Panzerfaust to be used as anything but a bludgeon. No-Hands hissed and darted away, clambering up a tablecloth. The gentlemen both fired, riddling its segmented body with an explosive slug and a canister of smaller flechettes. “Withdraw!” he called out. “You are inside minimum survivable range!” The gentlemen withdrew somewhat reluctantly, the cooks far less so. The creature knocked a chair aside and reared up by sheer momentum in pursuit of the marsupial. A table leg gave way as it crested the top, sending the marsupial sliding toward the creature’s gnashing chelicerae. No-Hands caught hold of the table’s edge with his claw prosthesis, and fired both barrels of a derringer with his dexterous toes. Already, his claw was losing its grip, not because of its mechanics but because the wood was giving way. With his single hand, he tried to aim his weapon, only to have its rear exhaust jet seized by the creature’s pincer.

The creature could have flung the weapon away, or crushed the mechanisms that armed and fired the warhead. But its instincts dictated that a threat could not be merely neutralized, but consumed. So, it pulled the far end of the recoilless firing tube into the midst of its mouthparts, trying with some signs of success to tear and crush the metal. And that was when No-Hands snared the paddle-like trigger with his foot. The patrons overhead cried out again at the sound and flash, except Daisy, who belatedly stopped. The gentlemen and a few of the patrons cautiously approached.

The marsupial and the eurypterid were still in position, amid the wrecked table, as if frozen in battle. The Panzerfaust tube was smoking at both ends, as were several patches of No-Hands’ mane. There was no sign of the warhead, though its trajectory was easy enough to deduce from the virtually empty window frame behind them. Slowly, the eurypterid shifted, until it flopped down all at once on its back. Only then was it clear that there was smoke coming from its mouth.

No-Hands leaped down. Here and there, clusters of eggs remained intact, mainly on the eurypterid, with a few rolling loose. He snarled. Then the cooks ran up, carrying a bottle of wine and another of cooking oil. They hastily emptied both bottles onto the creature, and the slightly senior cook turned out a long lighter sometimes used to ignite specialty dishes, lighting a merry blaze of mainly blue flame. No-Hands continued crushing the loose eggs, swinging and  pounding with the spent firing tube. He crushed two of the last three with his booted artificial foot and caught the third with his mechanical claw. He thrust it into his mouth, crunched three times, and spat with a hiss through the broken window.

“It is over, as much as it will ever be,” he said. Even as he spoke, Daisy started screaming again.

* * *

Percy met Daisy on a maintenance stairway that descended from the restaurant. She was being firmly guided by one of the gentlemen. She was still screaming, loud enough that witnesses would swear they had heard her from the ground. They led her into a lower level of the restaurant that held the storerooms and the main kitchen. The robot put an arm around her. She quieted for a moment, then screamed louder. “Come on, you know Wes won’t leave you,” he coaxed. “Stop, you’re upsetting people.” She finally quieted.

“Say,” Nick interjected, “where’d Chelsea go?”

* * *

 

By the time the police started arriving, Wes had sat down in a chair on the balcony. He looked up with no particular surprise as No-Hands climbed up the balcony railing. “So, you killed the creature,” he said.

“With help,” the marsupial said, clearly displeased. “I see you are good with locks.”

Wes shrugged. “I pick up things. Where will you go now?”

“I am provided with housing by your state,” he said. “They have offered better than I have, but I accepted only what I need. Now, I must ask, why did you come here?”

“I needed a place to think,” Wes said with another shrug. “It’s quiet here. At least, it was after Daisy stopped screaming. She’s okay, right?”

“She was escorted from the restaurant. They were firm but discrete. She seems to suit you as a partner.”

“I know. She just… Well, she’s Daisy. Sometimes that’s a bit much. I guess you don’t have that problem, if it’s true you’re the only one.”

No-Hands gave an unsettling chuckle. “Oh, not entirely,” he said. “My species is highly solitary and dangerous to approach. Determining our numbers, even our existence, is very difficult. Those who try to find us rarely repeat the mistake.”

“You don’t seem that solitary,” Wes said. “At least you talk to us.”

“I am unusual,” No-Hands said. “You could even say I am gregarious, by the standards of my species. Others would attack any other being on sight, including each other. Especially each other.”

 Wes nodded. “So I suppose getting married wouldn’t work…”

“Oh, I have a mate,” No-Hands said. He held up his mechanical claw. “She built me this hand.”

Wes’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he nodded. “Her name’s Anja, isn’t it?” he said. The marsupial nodded. “You called it out when you were in our apartment. So, how did you meet?”

“She was raised in a monastery that needed my help against raiders. She was intrigued, as was I. The monks gave her to me as my fee.”

“Figures. Have any kids?”

“No, nor did we try.” He gave a hiss that was very much like a sigh. “We disagreed whether it is prudent to sire offspring. It contributed to our parting. She did not understand the consequences, the dangers. She had never encountered another of our species before we met. I had; it cost me my leg.”

“Do you think you’ll ever see her again?”

“Oh, I am quite sure of that,” No-Hands said. “When she chooses, she will look for me, and when she looks, she will find me.”

“You think she loves you that much?”

The marsupial gave a single “HA!” and continued, “What I know is that nothing in our world or yours or any other will stop her. Now, I really must be going. Will you come inside with me?”

“I suppose…” Even as he spoke, the door behind them opened.

“Get in here, you idiot!” Chelsea shouted, and she yanked Wes and the chair inside.