NOVEL NEXT Chapter Fourteen: Cold Times Ahead
Day 18
Crash Station 6
United Space Systems Vessel California
09:03 hours
Chief engineer McAvoy watches Teresa and Harold work from halfway across the freezer. He fidgets uncomfortably as his stomach growls and his insides do a little dance of hunger. He cranes his neck to see better, considering that the only other humans in the large room have their backs facing toward him.
“Hey! What are you guys working on over there? What is that thing?” Theodore yells.
Harold turns to Theodore—a sarcastic smirk on his face. He points from himself to Teresa.
“You talking to us?” Harold responds dryly.
“Yeah, genius. I’m talking to you. I don’t see any other people in here. Do you?” Theodore growls.
“Oh? Okay,” Harold states sardonically.
Harold's smirk becomes a cruel sneer. He grips his partially constructed masterpiece in both hands and turns halfway to face Theodore. Placing the device on the floor, Harold taps it softly.
“We are making…A flamethrower,” Harold says matter-of-factly.
Harold grins almost sadistically as he points to various parts on the homemade flamethrower. Adding insult to injury, he also attempts to imitate Theodore’s trademark drawl.
“We cannibalized a bunch of parts from…Well, a bunch of different things. Including this handy dandy fire extinguisher," Harold exclaims.
His voice takes on the quality of an infomercial sponsor, and he does a small drumroll on the fire extinguisher lying on its side by his feet. The hose has been removed and attached to Harold’s newest creation.
“Kind of ironic, isn’t it?" Harold continues with a wink. "You see…And when I push this here button on the side of our makeshift flame thrower…It’s gonna shoot out a pressurized stream of ‘fire water’. Or so my grand-dad used to call it. And then, when I press both of these buttons simultaneously—”
Harold hovers his finger over a second button on the homemade fire cannon.
“—which I won’t do right now, because this is just a demonstration." Harold says. "This little baby is gonna shoot out an enormous gout of flame. When the flame mixes with the liquid heaven…Bye Bye Judas bug. Kind of like a big ole Molotov Cocktail hyped up on methamphetamines.”
Theodore has been glaring at Harold for more than half of his speech. He makes a sarcastic, ‘aha’ face, and twists his mouth upwards in a disgusted expression.
“You don’t have to explain to me how a flamethrower works, prick!” Theodore growls. “I’m a damn chief engineer. I’ve built the damn things.”
Harold makes a surprised Pikachu face, as if hearing this news for the first time. He sarcastically puts a hand to his mouth.
“Wow. You don’t say? Me too!” Harold says, his eyes narrowing. “I may just be a lab technician now. But I’ve dabbled in a few things. Kinda have to, in this economic climate. Really, Theodore. Don’t ask stupid questions…You won’t get stupid answers.”
Theodore shifts in his chair, causing the legs of the chair to scrape the freezer’s floor.
“How’s that a stupid question, butthead? You had your backs to me the whole freaking time!” Theodore hisses.
Teresa puts a hand on Harold’s chest before he can shoot off another pithy remark. The men’s arguing could very well draw any Judas specimens in the vicinity. They are nowhere near ready for such a confrontation.
“Okay. Okay. We get it,” Teresa says. She holds up a hand to signal compromise. “We should have let you in on what we were doing. We’re sorry. Okay?”
Harold is not even close to sorry. He crosses both arms over his broad chest and frowns. Teresa’s submission to Theodore is unbecoming of a scientist of her status and tenure. It is the chief engineer who should be apologizing to her. At the same time, Harold recognizes that Teresa may be attempting to placate Theodore in order to solicit his aid in helping them escape this hellhole. Either way he looks at it, he thinks Teresa may be playing with fire. The engineer is a loose cannon. He has made that apparent on many occasions. Theodore McAvoy is not a man to be trusted.
Teresa attempts to stand. Harold remains in a kneeling position, but allows Teresa to lean on his arm for support. Once on her feet, Teresa walks toward Theodore’s chair. She eyes him warily.
“Theodore? If we untie you…Are you going to play nice?” Teresa says in a soft voice. “We could really use your help. It will make things go a lot faster. We’re eventually going to have to leave the ship. Or at least try to get to the communications wing in order to send a signal back to Earth. That means, we’re going to have to work together…If we want to get out of here alive.”
Harold calls to Teresa in a gruff hiss. He peers at her with narrowed eyes and shakes his head vehemently.
“Teresa, no,” Harold pleads.
Teresa holds up a hand in Harold’s direction. She continues to stare at Theodore. Theodore continues to stare back.
“Can you work with us to get out of here, Theodore?” Teresa implores. “Three people have a better chance than two…Or even one."
A look passes between Harold and Theodore—not a good one either. Theodore rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and sucks on his inner jaw. He doesn’t answer immediately. Teresa raises her voice.
“Can we trust you, Theodore?” Teresa hisses in frustration.
“Yes,” Theodore yells back. “Yes, damn it! I don’t want to be torn apart by those things any more than you do.”
Teresa nods in satisfaction. Relief allows her to relax, and she casually rubs both hands together to warm them.
“Good. But first, we all get something to eat,” Teresa says.
She turns to the table heaping with frozen produce. Her hand freezes in midair, hovering over a bag of mixed berries.
“Oh,” Theodore says. “So does that mean you’re going to feed me? Can’t eat with my hands tied behind my back!”
Teresa prepares to respond, but Harold beats her to the punch.
“No.” Harold says in a voice cold as ice. “It means…We’re going to dislocate your shoulders, pull your arms over your head, and let you feed your own goddamn face.”
Teresa sighs with frustration and places a hand on her hip. She levels a stern glare at Harold. However, a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. To Harold, it almost looks as if she is having a mild seizure.
“You’re not helping, Harold,” Teresa says.
“Sorry,” Harold says, sounding anything but. “I was only kidding.”