Mistress Molly and Krell

Jared VanDyke

“This is scout Krell – Potential Colony Evaluation Mission #K-1. I’ve crash landed after a console malfunction, and the natives…hold communications!”

Krell watched from the bushes as a pack of frenzied humans stuffed ice and glass bottles into her infiltration pod. They wore face paint, matching uniforms, and foam at their mouths as they chanted: “Let’s-Go Raid-ers: Let’s Go!” They stumbled off into the woods with her pod, a trail of shattered glass and body spray in their wake.

Krell reopened her communicator with frost-nipped claws. The feed showed Corum, her tactical relay, a chitinous, eight-limbed aardvark analog lounging as if on a beach vacation. Throughout the background piles of Legion operatives basked against the crimson thermal currents along the relay’s interior.

“A native group called ‘Raiders’ abducted my vessel,” said Krell. “Please advise.”

“They got your ride, huh?” said Corum. “Pretty embarrassing failing your first mission. Can I have your bunk?”

The chanting of the Raiders grew distant, and the night wind cut into every channel of flesh along Krell’s scaled hide. Krell wished for the courage to make a snappy retort, but what came out was “Please call a recovery vessel. I need no samples to evaluate this planet: persistent cold, gargantuan hostile natives, and no resources worth harvesting. We’re better off colonizing a black hole.”

Corum sipped the frothing, violet beverage on his desk and belched as he went to work.

“Next recovery ship is two days out,” he said.

“Two days! My supplies were in the pod, and my suit’s thermal reserves won’t last another day.”

“You know protocol.”

“Please, no.”

“Oh yes. Where’s the guidebook…, here we are: ‘For the glory of the Legion…’ yadda yadda ‘…use our birth-given ability to dominate lesser species and blanket the galaxy…’ blah blah. Ah: ‘Beyond immediate recourse Legion scouts are to indoctrinate the nearest local.’”

Krell clapped a claw over her snout and whispered. “But humans are primitives and reek like spawning pits.”

“You’ll fit right in.”

Krell silently shook her communicator in hopes Corum would fly from his seat and bounce around the relay’s walls. She snapped it off and hissed wordlessly into the dead link.

Now alone in the alien forest every shadow held the shape of monsters unknown to the Legion bestiary, and each snow pile reached out with flurried tendrils, inviting Krell to her last rest. Her suit beeped a low thermal energy warning, and she shot off in search of a host.

The branches of local flora provided excellent support, and Krell’s four legs, four arms, and searching antennae let her skitter through the trees, easily following the haphazard Raider trail. She came upon them in a wooded clearing. The monsters had not posted a sentry, and were gathered around a flaming sacrificial pyre, roasting tube-shaped meats, drinking deep from clouded bottles, and dancing off-beat to a metal box playing, Krell assumed, the sounds of men dying.

One female sat by the pyre, hardly sipping from her bottle. The tribe only engaged her if an unopened bottle required brute force, or if someone fell and needed a stick or stone removed from their flesh. A human caregiver would prove an ideal host until recovery arrived, but Krell saw no point of approach due to the pyre’s light.

In time the smallest male of the group stumbled away from the pyre, his red hair caked into crooked, gel-soaked spikes.

“I gotta drain the main vein.”

Krell’s translator looked in perfect working order, but she could not believe he spoke so casually of suicide. The other males turned on their cohort in an instant.

“Breaking the seal is bad news.”

“Let em. Sean’s got a ferret bladder anyways.”

Sean gave a one-handed, one-fingered salute before he crunched off into the woods. Not an ideal body, thought Krell, but the independent Raider women stayed well within the camp’s light and warmth.

Krell balanced on a limb above Sean as he removed the bottom portion of his armor. His lower half sprang a leak, but the human enjoyed the hiss and steam of his depleting vital fluids. Perhaps, thought Krell, what Raider Sean lacked in hygiene and sense he made up for in endurance and fearlessness. Or, the Raiders would immediately sense the symbiotic bond and slay them both. Another beep of her suit’s low heat reserve silenced her doubts.

With a deep breath Krell dropped from the limb. Her consciousness psionically transferred into Sean’s the moment her antennae and claws collided with his skull.

A wet, vegetable haze clouded Sean’s brain, and the chassis bucked as Krell made him reach for her own comparatively tiny, unconscious body on the ground. With care she tucked herself into the folds of Sean’s upper body armor, pressing against the foul warmth of his gurgling stomach. A clear outline of her body poked out, but Krell did not fear the perception of those who treated superior technology as a beverage locker.

“Sean? Where are you? You lost?”

Krell hadn’t scrubbed through Sean’s memories, synced in full with his sensory inputs, or stopped the leak. She pulled up the lower half of his armor and swung around as a human pushed through the underbrush. Up close, the caregiver stood broad in stature and hair color spectrum, and she wore no face paint or uniform like the other Raiders. This human treated the biting wind and the clawing shadows of the woods with the same indifference as she did the puddle forming on Sean’s lower half.

Krell drew up Sean’s body as rigid as his two, spindle legs allowed, and bared his miniscule fangs.

“I’m Sean of…The Raiders! Let’s gooo. Raiders! Lesgo?”

The unimpressed female closed the distance, and the stability of Sean’s legs grew worse. None of the reports Krell read mentioned a species capable of seizing a creature’s consciousness without direct contact, yet this female controlled Sean with ease.

“You’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

The command compelled the Sean chassis without Krell’s input, overriding millennia of Legion psionic proficiency. A power so complete, so encompassing, demanded investigation, thought Krell. The scout let Sean stumble a few paces before attempting base level diplomacy.

“Mistress, you braved the woods to rescue me,” said Sean. “Your courage is worthy of praise.”

The caregiver looked over her shoulder and studied Sean as though his face had split in half. Krell realized too late she might’ve stepped over some unspoken authority line, but the female only grabbed Sean by the arm and pulled him onward.

“People ask me ‘Molly, why do you hang out with those losers?’ You know what I tell them?”

“You…you tell them ‘Away with you, peasants!’”

“I wish. No, I tell them ‘because they don’t ask questions.’ Usually buys some silence. We all got our reasons; we all pee our pants sometimes.”

Back in the warmth of the fire the other humans looked at Sean and switched between snorting laughter and loud whispers. The infiltration pod stood unguarded at the edge of the circle with most of the bottles and ice missing. Krell guided Sean towards the pod, but Molly’s grip held him fast.

“Please,” said Sean. “I’ve an unending thirst.”

“Your ‘unending thirst’ is done for the night,” said Molly. “Besides, they’re almost out.”

Like the spells of Legion sages pulling magma from a planet, the “almost out” drifted through the party and incited outrage, for their bottle lust knew no bounds. One of the larger males parted his fellow Raiders and towered over Molly.

“Take pee pants home and get s’more on the way back.”

“And where are they giving out free beer?” asked Molly.

The entire party turned on Sean and Molly with a unified hiss, and though Sean recoiled on instinct Molly remained tall and unimpressed. The male begrudgingly went about the camp with an upturned hat, collected wads of wrinkled paper, and thrust the cache at Molly.

“Take the cooler and get more ice too.”

“You command beer and ice? Brilliant planning your highness.. C’mon, Sean. Let’s not keep the king waiting.”

Krell threw Sean at her pod and scooped it up. Without her own body she could not evaluate the extent of the pod’s damage, but even through the slush of ice – and Sean’s inferior vision – she spotted the emergency thermal packets still fastened on the wall. A violet tinge colored the water, leading to a glaze crusting over miswired cabling and conduits on the floor. Only one Legion regular drank a beverage so royal, and so contraband, and Sean’s body twitched involuntarily as the scout within seethed with rage.

The pod grew heavy in Sean’s arms as they walked down the forest trail. The tactical play meant smashing the caregiver with the pod, abandoning the Sean chassis, and blasting off to the planet’s exosphere until recovery arrived. But Krell knew she could not snap sarcasms at royalty as Molly did, nor dare speak up about Corum’s careless bungling of her pod’s wiring. The only means of insuring a robust future for her career was learning the caregiver’s way.

“Mistress Molly of the Raiders,” said Sean. “I swear unending loyalty to you alone. Would you accept me as your humble vassal, willing to live and die by your word?”

Molly flipped her tri-colored hair and nodded.

“Sure, we meet every Monday. Club shirts are $9.99. Your first task: put the cooler in the trunk.”

They’d stepped from the forest and onto a gravel lot beside a smooth road. Rows of rust-pocked chariots filled the lot, and they stopped behind one covered in the signs: “Coexist,” “I Want to Believe,” and “The Truth is Out There But I’m In Here” The back flipped open, Krell deposited her ship within and followed Molly’s lead into the machine’s copilot chair.

“How much in the hat?” said Molly.

A test, thought Krell. She mined Sean’s mind for the human numerical system, fanned out the crumpled papers, and guessed.

“Uh…the large size numbers total 42,” said Sean.

“30 for the beer and 12 for gas and churros,” said Molly. “Let’s ride.”

A roar like the flame pillars of home filled the machine as they hurtled down the road. Molly pressed a few buttons on the console, and a sad female’s voice floated from the audio with “Hello, it’s me.” Molly echoed the song in a low, sweet octave which made Sean’s body flush without a command. The roar of the flame pillars, the warmth rushing from the vents, and Molly’s artistry washed through Sean’s consciousness and into Krell’s own. The scout loosed her puppet’s vocal capabilities and joined Molly in the chorus.

Sean received a punch to the bicep for his efforts.

“God, you’re just as bad as them tonight,” said Molly. “You already ruined your pants. Don’t ruin my Adele time too.”

“M-my apologies, I could not help myself,” said Sean. “Am I to address you as Adele?”

“Yep, you caught me. I’m Adele. When I’m not playing nanny I grow a butt chin and waste my time crooning for millions.”

The bite in her voice contradicted the meaning of the words. At first Krell blamed Sean’s inferior neural capacity, but Molly’s purposeful focus on the dash’s neon numerals told the scout something else was in play. Krell made Sean reach out and touch Molly’s arm.

“It is not a waste of time,” said Sean. “Please, start again. Your crooning brings me unending joy.”

“What’s with you and ‘unending’!!?”

Sean started back, and Krell prayed to the fire sages she’d not incurred the caregiver’s wrath.

Molly watched her spiked, lanky friend twitch a few times before sighing. “Sorry for yelling. It’s okay. It’s just hard. Some days you find the butt chin, and some days the butt chin finds you.”

“The ‘butt chin?’ You require the ‘butt chin?’ I-I don’t understand.”

“…yeah, me neither. Just not used to compliments.”

They rode on in silence. After a time the vehicle halted at a roadside fuel carnival of neon signs, stale chemicals, and a semi-circle of grotesque warriors at the edge of the lamp light. Molly opened her door, undeterred by the 2-for-1 hotdog advertisement on the station’s window.

“Pass the hat,” said Molly. “Now, don’t move or touch my stereo. Got it?”

“On my word!”

“Do you have to shout?”

Krell could not puzzle free an answer, so she lowered Sean’s head in deference.

Molly snorted. “Tell me, why do we hang out again?”

Krell raced through Sean’s addled memories for files on Molly. She found their shared ritual piercing of ears, nights they screamed in tandem while heavily armored Raiders smashed into opposing forces on a striped field, and many, many glimpses of Molly’s stockinged legs. The ones she wore now were speckled with little stars, planets, and mechanical unicorns.

“One: we are Raiders,” said Sean. “Two: you seek the butt chin in earnest. Three: your legs are colorful and worthy of my attention.”

“N-no churro for you,” said Molly. Red faced, she slammed the door and walked off to the fueling station.

Krell’s ship was unguarded only feet away. The idea of transgressing Molly’s command made Krell hesitate, but already she felt her own body chilling beneath Sean’s armor. She sent Sean wobbling to the vehicle’s trunk. It would not open. She tried the handle, pushed the keyhole, then summoned all Sean’s strength and ape bashed it..

“Easy buddy. Something we can help you with?”

Krell lost control of Sean at the surprise and fell over. Over her stood the men from the lamplight’s edge, the animal scent of hot blood and burnt vegetation radiating from them. The most gruesome of the pack wore a patch on his vest which read ‘Reginald.’

“Pissed his pants already,” said Reginald. “Don’t make it too easy, lad.”

One of the road warriors picked Sean up by the shoulders. Krell did not make Sean resist, and Reginald closed the gap between them. Up close she noticed the leader’s lack of hair, and the cloud of white which blotted out his left eye. Another warrior went to the pilot’s chair and popped the trunk open. The lot cheered at even the scant few bottles within Krell’s pod.

“Been looking for a new ride,” said Reginald. “I’ll just sandblast the stickers off. Pass me the keys and I’ll let you walk home instead of crawl.”

“I’ve no keys,” said Sean. “And wouldn’t I move faster using all my limbs?”

“Let’s find out.”

Krell saw the punch coming, and input a dodge command, but Sean’s substance-slowed body crumpled as Reginald’s fist hit his stomach. The blow missed her own body by inches, and she curled Sean around herself as the crowd of warriors circled. When the first boot hit Sean’s back Krell imagined Corum highlighting her scouting record with “1st mission – carelessly and incompetently allowed herself to be slain by natives.”

“Sean!”

Molly ran up, dropping a box of cans and sticks of spiced dough in a paper sack. From her bag she pulled out a small, black box with two metal prongs. Krell sensed the overwhelming electrical power surging through the device.

“Fierce gal,” said Reginald. “She yours?”

“I’m mine,” said Molly. “I’ve 80,000 volts to share if you like.”

“There’s not enough juice there for all of us.”

“Line up and we’ll find out.”

Back at the fuel station, the attendant hung a CLOSED sign and shut off the building’s lights. The warriors advanced despite the surge of Molly’s weapon, the flare of her nostrils, and the cords of muscle contracting along her arms. All the scouting guides, all Krell’s instincts, screamed for a retreat while the warriors focused on Molly. But her confidence infected Krell’s psionic pathways, and soon the scout found herself raising Sean to a stand and summoning his deepest voice.

“Great Reginald, we beg your lenience,” said Sean. “We are young, inexperienced, and still have all our eyes and hair.”

The warriors stopped their advance and brayed loudly. Reginald scowled, grabbed Sean, slammed his head onto the trunk, and unsheathed a hunting knife from his belt.

Krell dared not move Sean as Reginald held the knife point before his eye.

“How ‘bout I help you catch up,” said Reginald.

Molly swooped down, ripped open the box, and began slinging beer cans. One caught the closest goon smack in the head. The group dodged behind Molly’s car. Cans ricocheted off hood, roof, and heads.

“What’re you all, new?” said Reginald. “It’s just a kid with beer cans.”

A can clipped his shoulder and the assemblage of warriors shrank at their leader’s rage. Reginald released Sean, let the knife hang at his side, and stepped with purpose towards Molly. He took another can to the chest, and to the leg, but kept advancing.

“Lesgoraiders!”

The war cry blurred in Krell’s input haste, but all manner of clarity reigned as she made Sean smash her pod against the back of Reginald’s head. She expected him to crumble,, but he simply turned on Sean. Molly lunged forward and drove the stun gun’s prongs into Reginald’s backside. His twitching body hit the ground.

The remaining warriors fanned out and blocked escape. Sean activated the pod’s exhaust port, blasting the beards off of all within reach. Molly drove the stars and unicorns on her knee into the groins of anyone left unburnt.

Soon Molly’s stamina and Krell’s exhaust ebbed. They pressed back to back. Even through Sean’s deadened ears Krell heard Molly’s organs thrumming, yet the scout knew only peace at the warrior maiden’s side.

“It was an honor to serve you, Mistress Molly Adele,” said Sean. “Please, forgive my transgressions. Am I still allowed at meetings? Will I still receive a shirt?”

“Nah, you’re out.” Her cracked lip painted her grin red. “Not losing gang fights is like rule number one.”

Meanwhile two black and white vehicles had rolled up. The humans who stepped out were miles above the Raiders in the rigidity of their actual armor and the polish of their uniforms. As their blue and red sirens shrieked, the warriors abandoned Reginald and fled into the forest. Through Sean, Krell sensed the cold sinking into her own body despite her host’s heat so while Molly approached the polished warriors, Krell grabbed her pod and dashed into the woods.

By the time Krell looked back, no humans were in sight. She emptied the pod of beer, pulled her own body from Sean’s armor, hooked herself into the pod’s thermal conduits, and pressed Sean’s forehead to her antennae. The neural transfer completed immediately, and the human dropped unconscious as she reentered her own body.

She flipped open her communicator as she refilled her suit’s thermal reserves. A gaggle of Legion regulars, limbs flailing and snouts trumpeting in victory, crowded around Corum’s desk.

“You cost me big,” said Corum. “Kleck gave good odds for you surviving. I should’ve taken them.”

“I’m starting repair and maintenance subroutines now,” said Krell. “I’ll head to the recovery ship for pick up.”

“Maybe they’ll pick you up. If you ask nice. Legion Command saw your last communication. They labeled you terminated and humans hostile. The eradication fleet is on its way.”

“Whyyy!!?

“How are you surprised? You said the planet is a waste and the natives are savage. Command will sanitize it..”

“There are some hostiles, but there are creatures here with rare strength worth studying. There’s this female who can…who can, uh…”

“Uh oh. Command isn’t going to like this.”

“I can explain better! Please give me time for a real report.”

“I don’t mean your babbling.” Corum sniggered. “Look behind you, ‘scout.’”

Molly stood a few yards away, chest heaving, space stockings torn, staring at Krell. She dropped down between Krell’s pod and Sean’s unconscious body. Krell braced for a scream, or a psychic assault, but neither came.

“I knew it,” said Molly. “I knew it, Iknewit! Sean wouldn’t know ‘transgression’ from tyrannosaurus. I thought it was the booze but… it’s aliens. I finally get to say it’s aliens.”

The Legion guides claimed most species would flee on seeing an operative’s natural form. Molly only smiled as she studied Krell’s head tendrils, clawed limbs, intricately plated hide, and stunning snout curvature.

“How long were you in his head? Can you…can you talk like that?”

Krell had to get away before the fleet arrived. The self-repair subroutines were taking care of the damage. She picked up her speaker and translator with two claws and blazed through the pod’s ignition sequence with the other six.

“I have to leave,” said Krell. “Take him and stand back.”

“Take me with you; take me out of this hellhole. I can squish in!” The sensors on Krell’s dash showed a chemical rush blitzing through Molly’s body. “You can take over my mind and I’ll fly us out.”

Molly, amidst the schemes of Corum, the parade of Legion officials in their finery, the hive of regulars fighting for space? No butt chin there. The words came harder than Krell liked, but she focused on the ignition statistics for strength. “No Mistress Molly. Back away from the pod or face termination.”

Molly’s eyes clouded over as she dragged Sean’s body away, speaking softly.

“People ask why I hang out with Sean and the other idiots. Well, this is it. I was hoping one day there’d be more than bonfires and football.”

The ignition switch on the pod’s dash sparked alive. One press would shoot Krell off into the stars and leave the human wasteland behind. Blue and red lights flashed through the trees, and search light beams cut the shadows.

“Abduct me, Alien!!”.

“Molly, I-”

“I was made for something more.  Please!”

A pair of the rigidly armored warriors were approaching through the brush. On reflex, Krell pressed the ignition button, sealed the pod, and shot off into the sky. She soon lost sight of Molly, watching the pod arc into the sky, lost sight of all the humans, the fuel station, the forest, and soon the planet itself. Molly’s parting words echoed in Krell’s mind.  She wondered if Molly really would’ve crammed herself into the pod, or what songs they would’ve sung as they rocketed through space. She remained with her claw on the ignition, frozen, though her vessel moved with incalculable speed.

Her communicator broke her from the spell. On the other end Corum, Kleck, and the Legion regulars piled around the monitor with ration tickets in their claws. Many of them groaned in defeat as her feed came into focus and threw down their tickets. Corum squealed with delight as he raked the lot in.

“I took Kleck’s odds this time,” said Corum. “And tah dah: you survived. I’ll split my winnings with you later.”

“Legion Command,” said Krell. “What’re they doing?”

“The eradication fleet is still en route. Want in on the action? Kleck is giving good odds on the first salvo wiping everything out.”

Krell trembled but decided it was time to earn her t-shirt. “Call Command. Tell them the planet needs further evaluation. There’s… there’s more than bonfires and football down there.”

Murmurs rolled through the betting crowd. Corum took a long sip from his beverage. “Well now.   Why should I do that? I’ve comm records showing you in a panic, and this most recent one full of native collusion.”

Only then did Krell realize she hadn’t closed the communicator when Molly found her.

“Don’t think Command will buy contradicting reports,”.Corum smirked.

And now for full reinstatement at the Monday night meetings. “I have an infiltration pod that malfunctioned and crashed because someone spilt something on my conduits.”

Corum not-so-slyly pushed his violet drink out of the comm’s camera.

“Contraband and equipment tampering are exile-worthy offenses, right?”

Corum’s antennae curled. The gambit hung in the air for a moment before he shooed away the onlookers. For a long stretch he worked at his display until the feed indicator blinked off. He was still live on the screen despite showing no signal.

“Okay,” he said. “How do we keep from needlessly including this trivial accident detail in the report?”

“Call off the fleet, reroute me to a recovery vessel, and I continue the mission, with a larger pod.”

“You want to go back to that planet? To the reeking cold spawning pit?”

“We all got our reasons!” A smile formed on the end of Krell’s snout. “There’s so much potential, so much power we don’t understand. And I know just which primary informant to work with.”

“…you’re not going to go native, are you?”

“I might. They don’t ask so many questions. Now away with you, peasant!”

 

“Mistress Molly and Krell” ©  Jared VanDyke
Jared VanDyke is a nocturnal library jockey who specializes in telling stories about night creatures for night creatures. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College, and can be contacted for sci-fi and fantasy projects at jaredvandyke.com.

 

“Molly”  photomanipulation by Fran Eisemann. Stock Used: Woman with purple hair, (Purple Hair 3), by Gemma, an Australian artist at Dazzle Stock;  space ship, trees, beer bottles. bonfire, and alien necklace from pixabay, Wikimedia, and creative commons stock.