Malparadiso Station Season 1.7
Episode 7 Under Pressure
Episode 7: Under Pressure
Myril woke up with a blistering headache. His veins felt like they held molten lava. He could not lie still, but moving was torture. He moaned a little, but the sound reverberated through his head. Even breathing hurt.
“Lie still!” thundered from somewhere outside him. A drop of burning liquid touched his tongue, adding thirst to his misery. He tried to suck more of it, and it came, each drop growing cooler and more refreshing as he was able to swallow. The fire in his body began to solidify into simple pain. He passed out into cool, blessed darkness.
He opened his eyes to see his body lying on the floor of Yroi’s pod. Yroi was kneeling beside him. She laid a wet rag soaked in green slime across his forehead. Most of the rest of his body was soaked in green slime too. It looked like his only chance to get off planet was going to be without his body.
He turned to look behind him. Another...Spirit? Soul? Consciousness?...floated in the air behind him. It was a snake-woman, twice his height, but coiled, almost like some reptile guru meditating. It could see him. It glanced back at his body, nodding towards it.
He looked back at himself again. He didn’t know how to get back in his body, and he didn’t want to feel the pain again. The Snake-Woman pointed at him and then to his body. He moved with the arc of her finger, feeling a flash of pain as he entered his body...and then nothing.
#
When he came to again, the fire had cooled to a dull ache. He chanced opening his eyes a slit. The face he saw was human, not Yroi’s. He tried to speak but could only croak.
“Hush,” the face said. The face was familiar, but he couldn’t place it
Something cool dripped into his mouth. He sucked at it, expecting to pass out again, but this time he stayed conscious. Myril opened his eyes further. He was in Yroi’s pod. He didn’t see the snake-woman or Yroi. It was darker than usual. Yroi might be in her sleeper. He risked stretching his hand. It was only stiff, not painful.
“No. Be still.” The face had a soft voice, but it was high-pitched, like a child’s. “SharpyGranny say be quiet. Drink. Rest.”
“You’re the fungus kid.” Myril said. He tried to lift his head, but the pain came back, and he saw red galaxies before his eyes. Myril moaned.
“Learn hard,” the kid said.
“Talk to me,” Myril said. “Tell me your name and why you bring us the tunnel lips.”
“Stupid sape. SharpyGranny give water.”
“What’s your name? What do I call you?”
The face grinned, now looking childlike instead of serious. “Slime. Me Slime. SharpyGranny pay me much water to watch you.”
#
Myril slept and woke, slept and woke, sometimes to find Yroi and sometimes, Slime. One day both of them were there, and they pulled him up to sit in a chair for a while. They made him choke down some plain toufood—nasty stuff with nothing to give it flavor.
Yroi laughed when he complained. “Hasn’t eaten in a week, but he fusses about the food.” She sprinkled a tiny pinch of firebug shells over Myril’s plate.
He smiled, even when the heat flowed from his mouth all over his body. His pain nerves felt burned out, and the firebugs were only a bit of warmth.
Yroi got up from the table. “I have to go to work. Slime will stay with you. Try to sit up as long as you can, but don’t do anything else. No cooking.”
Myril nodded. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere yet. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He nodded at Slime too. “Both of you.”
Yroi patted his head and his cheek, where his beard was more than stubble. She said nothing as she went out the door, locking them in.
“How much water is Yroi paying you to stay with me?”
Slime shrugged. “Not talk business. You not part of deal.”
“What will you talk to me about?” Myril leaned back in his chair, already tired from sitting up. “How did you get your name? How do you survive here?”
“Why you care? I live here. Not you. Why you here?”
“I want to be a great chef. I have heard of nike’rot and how it makes everything taste so very good. I want to know how to use it, how to grow it.”
“That easy. Poop and wait.”
Myril’s stomach wasn’t up to the mental image his brain produced. He swallowed again. He was glad he hadn’t tried nike’rot yet.
Slime grinned at him. “Want know more?”
“What do you eat then? You can’t live off of tunnel lips.”
“No. Good thing. SharpyGranny buys.” Slime grinned again.
Myril told his stomach not to listen. “So, what then?”
“Bugs. Grubs.” Slime grinned at Myril’s expression. “Any trade. Any steal. What people give, if can eat.” Slime stretched, leaned back against the wall. “I feed tribe. Tribe feeds me. You no tribe. Why you leave them?”
“I don’t have a tribe.” Myril’s head began to swim. He clutched the edge of the table to keep himself vertical. “Help me to lie down.”
Slime was very strong for such a young kid. He couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. He helped Myril lie down and tucked him in. Myril struggled to keep his eyes open.
“Slime, bring me some of what you eat, if you can, and let me cook it for you.”
“Stupid sape.” Slime grinned as Myril slid back into dark sleep.