Why Humans Make Bad Pets!

I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds II

Several hours later I awoke from the unconsciousness Mama's poor little sedative had worked so hard to achieve. The situation in the sickbay had somehow managed to fall further down the declivity it had started down when I had been sedated. Pimples had gained a sizable hipster following, a group of which now stood in a circle around their leader, whimpering in pain as they suffered for their beliefs. DeathBreath was having membership problems, for which my nose was thankful, and only one more had joined Jiggles ranks. Drippy's Death Metal Enthusiasts were by far the most popular, having nearly doubled in size, head banging away in what I hoped was euphoria. Two new groups had also formed during my forced but by no means unwelcome rest.

The first new group seemed to have liked the sneezing aspect of the Death Metal Enthusiasts, but not the head-banging part of it. They were all lying on their beds, hacking away like walruses during mating season. Their coughs seemed to be just that, rather than the head banging variation of the Death Metal Enthusiasts sneezes, and their heads were staying decidedly unbanged as they lay on their sides, attempting to attract each other with the lush tones of their sensual barks. Or maybe they were just dying. It was one of the two, so I decided to go with the happier option. Mama would find a way to fix them up, because I had no ideas. I'd probably infect someone with the black plague if I tried to help. Judging by how they were holding up to the smaller infections, if I did that they probably wouldn't show any symptoms, just go from perfectly healthy then keel over dead, or maybe they'd spontaneously explode. I wasn't going to find out, so I turned my attention to the second of the new fads.

I think the other group was composed of masochists. It looked like their founder, whoever he had been, had seen the other groups and decided none of them featured enough suffering for his tastes, so he started his own that outclassed the others in every way, juxtaposing explosive vomiting, diarrhea, extreme fatigue, heavy sweating, and, unless I misinterpreted the reason some of them were shaking, chills. I think they also had the worst kind of sore throat you can get, unless they were massaging their throats because they thought it would help stop their vomiting. This group truly was the most pitiful of the recent cults.

Several of their members had succumb to the crushing fatigue of their faction, but this hadn't stopped the other characteristics of their chosen people, and they slept, wheezing, as their overactive GI systems spewed forth their essence where it could begin its olfactory assault upon my senses. I took a moment to step outside of my humorous defense mechanism to take an honest and objective look at the scene around me.

It wasn't good. The crew was in a bad shape and I doubted they would last much longer. The worst part of it was that this wasn't something I could help them with. I wasn't a microbiologist, or even a scientist, or even a smart person. I didn't know anything about fighting off diseases. The only thing I could protect them from were physical attacks. I felt helpless. This was the first time I'd been helpless since I had escaped the grey Yodas, and I hated the feeling. I wanted to punch something. That wouldn't have helped anyone, though, so I settled for punching the diseases with my imagination. I don't think it did anything.

The sickbay had a window, and my attention was drawn to it when something other than the endless void of space flashed by. The window was too small, and I was too far from it, but I could see it was the hull of some other spacefaring object, whether it was station or ship I couldn't tell. 30 seconds later the ship lurched in what I had come to recognize as our ship docking with something. Without another word Mama and the Drippy's entourage, which amazingly hadn't contracted any of the factions beliefs, began helping cultists out of the sickbay. Soon I was the only one left, my energy field glowing around my bed.

"Thanks guys, I didn't want to leave this room anyway!" No one heard. I tested the energy field around my bed. It felt as solid as a wall. I pushed against it experimentally. It didn't budge. I threw my shoulder against it and achieved the same result. Not wanting to throw my all at it, I sat dejectedly on my bed and waited. It wasn't long before Mama came into my room, wearing a grey hazmat suit. I felt a little uneasy, but understood why she was doing it. It just made me feel like I had stayed a little too long in Chernobyl or something similar. She lowered my energy field and motioned me to follow.

We walked through the eerily quiet and empty corridors of the ship, which satisfied my curiosity as to why it had taken so long. I really was a plague ship. Now I knew how the rats who had either carried or chaperoned the black plague around the world had felt, and let me tell you now with my new found expertise. It sucked. When we arrived at the docking bay I could see by benefit of a bay window that we were docked to a large station about the size of a football stadium. It was the sterile white of a hospital.

Entering through the airlock, it was like no hospital I'd seen. Every room was a calming shade of white and blue, which tried unsuccessfully to distract from the seemingly unnecessary amounts of air vents set into the ceiling, or the large glowing blue columns on either side of the walls which hummed with energy which made my skin tingle as I passed them. Paired with Mama's hazmat suit, I assumed the columns offered another level of sterility to the environment. We walked into large room where I stopped a moment to stare. It was huge, and filled with such an array of alien equipment that I couldn't even begin to parse together the reasons for a single one, except for the stations which seemed to feature alien microscopes.

The microscopes were my only clue that this was a massive research facility, specifically one dedicated to studying dangerous diseases, since every xeno in the room was wearing a hazmat suit. The diversity of the lifeforms in the room was another reason I paused. There were so many. The suits made it difficult to see the differences, but the heights and breadths alone were enough to show me the differences. Most of the xenos seemed to be taller than me, and nearly all were as spindle limbed as the blue-giraffes. There even appeared to be another variation of blue-giraffes amongst the researchers, except these blue-giraffes were taller and moved with a greater grace and elegance than my new family members, if grace and elegance could be ascribed to four meter high beings with two more arms and legs than the version I was used to.

I also noted that there didn't seem to be any of the common form of blue-giraffes among the researchers except for patients. What that implied I didn't know, but I remarked upon it nonetheless. I didn't stare for long as Mama ushered me around the room and into another about the size of the sickbay back on the ship, except this room appeared to only have a bed for one, and the rest was occupied by an array of equipment which I could only assume was to be used to ascertain the extent of my destructive nature.

I didn't need to be told where I was going to be staying, so I walked over to my new bed and hopped on. I immediately leapt off again. Despite the fact that he was wearing a hazmat suit, it was unmistakable as a grey Yoda walked into my room carrying a tray filled with an array of syringes filled with different colored fluids, one of which I quickly noticed was a familiar shade of blue. I quickly shot a glance at Mama. Why wasn't she worried, or afraid? Why didn't she shout in alarm as that creature entered the room? I doubted I'd been abducted by rogue scientists, so assumed they had worked with their species knowledge and consent. Didn't Mama know what kind of monsters these things were?

Even if she wasn't going to act, I sure wasn't going to let that thing work over me as I lay prone on a bed, especially with the blue syringe of death. I wasn't as adverse to having it get close to me when I was on my feet. In fact, I welcomed it, which was why upon seeing its ugly oversized alien monster head I not only leapt off the bed but leapt off the bed in its general direction, bellowing as I shot past Mama and landing mere feet in front of the Yoda. He didn't seem to have the abilities of his namesake, and only managed a pathetic dry squeak as I flung my hand towards his head in an open palmed slam which hit his face plate, shattering it and flinging him three meters where he landed heavily on the floor and slid for another four.

I threw myself after him, preparing to finish the job when an energy field sprung into existence in front of me, which I promptly slammed into and confirmed that it was as solid as it felt. I wildly looked around, not wanting to lose my advantage while the Yoda was down, well, I didn't really need more of an advantage but I didn't want to make him wait. That would be impolite, and I try to be courteous when I go about revenge, I mean, self-protection. This wasn't about revenge, and if it was then I guess I'd think about it later. Right now my blood was up and I wanted that Yoda gone.

My eyes landed on the blue column in the wall which was lined up with another on the wall which the energy field made a straight line in between. I decided this meant they were the emitters responsible for the field and leapt towards the closest one. Half of it was on my side of the field on half on the other side. I supposed that it had been created to keep diseases and other pathogens contained, which is why it was ill-suited to prevent my hand from hitting it and smashing its casing.

I probably should have thought about just what an energy field emitter would exactly contain in order to be emitting an energy field, because it broke, releasing a massive amount of force which picked me up and threw me across the room, slamming me into the base of my bed. On the upside it took the field down and I was alive, so I figured it was a win win situation. Dazed, I ran drunkenly towards the Yoda, who seemed to be unconscious as he hadn't moved yet was still breathing. I was halfway there when I was slammed in the side by what felt like George Foreman coming to give me something other than a sandwich. I had been unsteady enough that the unexpected blow had knocked me from my feet, and I rolled with the blow - a move which had saved me from enough cracked heads that it had become habit - coming up in a crouch facing my new attacker.

It was Mama. From the pounding of the blood in my ears I hadn't heard her shout-clicking, but now she released a torrent unlike anything I'd ever heard from her. She wore what looked like an alien bullet proof vest into which was plugged an alien ray gun, significantly larger than the one the blue-giraffe pirates had used. I wondered wryly for a moment if she'd just tried to kill me, but then ignored the thought when she did not continue shooting and instead put the gun down to allow her the use of her other hand so she could gesticulate even more in her tirade.

I didn't know what she was saying, but I didn't think I needed to. Now that I was taking a moment to think, I realized that she wouldn't have taken me onto a station so I could be experimented on and generally abused. I doubted she would have thought that anyone could have done that to me even if they wanted to, anyway. If that had been her intent, then she would have sedated me again and then let the Yodas do their thing. This Yoda might have been a defector, a scientist who had grown weary of his races atrocities and decided to join the nobler alien races. Or maybe those really had just been rogue scientists. Either way, I shouldn't have attacked him, though I still thought my actions had not been entirely unjustified.

I bowed my head, somewhat ashamed of my behavior, and Mama's tirade stopped suddenly. I realized that this was the first time I'd shown any remorse for what I'd done. After all, I felt like all my actions up to this point had been completely justified, since I wasn't the animal they took me for. Now they knew I wasn't, or at least some of them did, and I would have to show them that I wasn't a sapient killing machine, which probably would have been worse in their minds. The psychopathic part of me which I'm sure everyone has really liked the idea.

Squashing psychopathic me, I walked calmly over to the where the still unconscious Yoda had dropped his tray of syringes and picked the blue one up from the ground. I showed it to Mama, just so she knew what had specifically set me off - I had not just rage thrown the Yoda - and snapped off the end of its needle, putting the syringe in my pocket. I didn't know if smashing it against the ground would be bad, so I decided to just keep an eye on it. I hopped back onto my bed and waited calmly as Mama went and carried the still unconscious Yoda out of the room.