Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [78]
“Oh,” said the captain, “we’ve still got it, all right. We just don’t know how much. After all, we gunned the engines pretty hard trying to get out of this mess on our own.”
“I will need to speak to your engineer,” the ensign told him.
The captain sighed. “Unfortunately, he was injured early on. His assistant is running things.” He leaned forward. “And between you, me, and the bulkhead, he’s not the brightest star in the firmament.”
The captain of the Belladonna was an unusual man, Jiterica observed. Despite the dire nature of his circumstances, he seemed to take it all in stride.
“If you like,” the ensign said, “I can offer him assistance. I was trained in engine operations at the Academy.”
The captain nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”
But when the ready room doors opened for them, a human youngling was revealed standing outside them. His mouth fell open as he caught sight of Jiterica.
“My son,” the captain explained, throwing his arm around the young man. “Little shy, but he’s a whip. Curious about everything. Mind if he tags along?”
The ensign said she didn’t mind at all.
Simenon had expected Kasaelek to try a preemptive strike at the outset of their winner-take-all combat. As it turned out, he was right.
The Aklaash had barely gotten leave to begin before he launched a meaty fist at his opponent. It was only because Simenon was expecting it that he was able to duck and shuffle past the attack.
But Kasaelek wasn’t done yet. Not nearly. Unlike the engineer, he seemed to have plenty of energy left in him even after his catch-up sprint through the woods.
As the Aklaash wheeled and came at him again, Simenon had a moment to appreciate how mismatched they were. Kasaelek was proportioned just like him from his scaly head to the tip of his tail, but he towered over the engineer the way an adult might tower over his offspring. And the Aklaash wasn’t hurt. It was only a matter of time before he used his superior reach to land a blow from which Simenon couldn’t recover.
Unless, of course, Simenon used his vaunted Mazzereht intelligence to even up the contest somehow.
Easier said than done, he told himself, as he ventured to duck Kasaelek’s second rush. This time, however, he couldn’t avoid it entirely. The Aklaash landed a glancing blow to his right shoulder—the one above his injured ribs.
The resulting wave of pain made Simenon lightheaded, but he managed to scurry away. Damn, he thought, unable to keep from wincing. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He had to do something.
Think, Phigus. Use that nimble brain the gods gave you. If you can fix a warp drive, you can beat a big, dumb Aklaash.
And then it came to him.
Truthfully, he hadn’t come up with the idea on his own. But if you’re going to borrow, he thought, borrow something you know has worked.
He waited until Kasaelek came about for another go at him. Then he braced himself, legs apart for balance, knowing he might not get a second chance at this.
The Aklaash bared his teeth and charged—but this time, he wasn’t trying to bludgeon Simenon senseless with a single blow. He was coming on with his muscular arms spread wide, hoping to wrap them around his adversary and then batter him senseless.
It’s now or never, Simenon told himself.
Marshaling what little energy he had left, he scooted between Kasaelek’s legs and grabbed his adversary’s tail—just as the duwiijuc had done to him earlier in the day.
No doubt, it was the last thing Kasaelek had expected of him. With a cry of rage, he whirled about in the clearing, dragging Simenon with him. The engineer felt as if his arm muscles were shredding, as if his ribs on that side were going to crack in half. But he didn’t let go of Kasaelek’s tail. In fact, he hung on that much harder.
Kasaelek tried to reach behind him, to peel Simenon off. But he couldn’t. Even his mighty arms didn’t reach that far. And the more he tried, the more the effort took its toll on him.