One Rotten Tomato

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

That’s what Urgma said before he closed the airlock on the immense tomato greenhouse orbiting high above Stepla II and pulled out some ancient Craftsmen channel lock pliers that probably still carried the lifetime warranty. He had found them on a hunting trip for ancient torture devices on Old Earth and these had quickly become his favorites – he could fix his spaceship and torture spies with the same tool.

I was a spy. It was a noble calling for my species and almost everybody in the galaxy used our services, including General Urgma. He just didn’t use my services and that was the heart of my current terror.

Urgma squeezed the handles of the channel locks and pulverized the first bone in the little finger on my top hand. I fought the urge to cry out and an orange gel seeped through my skin. I hoped the stench of my defense mechanism would drive my captors away, but they had anticipated this and donned gas masks.

“Thanks for reminding me that Dymlans are considered the skunks of the galaxy!” Urgma roared with laughter. “No wonder you all work as spies!” He moved to the second bone and squeezed again.

“Crunch!”

“Ieahhhhhh!!!!” This time I screamed. Technically, I was immortal as anything cut off would regrow in a matter of Earth days, but that ability came from the fact that my body was all stem cells, and those were the ones with the most pain receptors.

The jaws closed on the third bone. “Crunch!”

I didn’t scream again as I was still screaming from the second crunch. My entire finger was now a bag of bone fragments. I bit down on my front hand and drew blood to draw pain away from my finger. The thin blue liquid hit my right flipper and then oozed onto the floor of the greenhouse.

“Give us the codes!” Urgma demanded.

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

Urgma fastened the channel locks to my hand, and then began cutting my smashed finger into thin slices with a shiny pair of shears. More blue liquid shot out.

“I will cut you to pieces if I have to. Now! The SECURITY CODES!”

Dymlans’ ability to recreate themselves made them uniquely qualified as spies. Dymlans didn’t fear death and their ability to withstand pain was legendary. At least for the purebreds. I wasn’t even close to being pure Dymlan. Sure, I had the flipper feet and the four arms, but inside, I was different, and I was close to cracking! I hoped Urgma didn’t know that and would soon give up his interrogation.

Urgma got tired and bored after he had reduced my fingers to a pile of slices on the titanium floor.

Even with the bones smashed, my leathery skin had resisted the shears and Urgma’s hand was red and blistered when he finished slicing. I figured he was done when he removed his gas mask. His face resembled a transparent cantaloupe with dark green splotches.

Urgma must have sensed my relief because he just laughed. “That was just my warmup!” He opened a carbon fiber case and brought out the device that Dymlans feared above all else – the Axonal Neural Stimulator - and smiled, baring his sharp black teeth covered with the rotted flesh of his last live meal.

I tried to meet his smile with bravery, but my entire nervous system was on fire at the sight of the device. It would put every sensory nerve in my body on overload!

“I can see you know what this is and what I am going to do with it. Save yourself the pain, Morti, and give me the codes. I would love to kill you after you do, but we all know you are immortal. Maybe I will hire you as a spy for the Syngoth and you can help us win our war against the Brint. Heroes are rewarded in our society.”

“Never! Dymlans never betray. It is unwritten space code!”

“As you choose.” He placed the tip of the stimulator above my middle eye and pressed a small silver button.

A volcano erupted inside me. Everything turned yellow-orange and then blue white. The stimulator was dual purpose – it paralyzed my motor nerves as it set the sensory ones ablaze.

Suddenly, the torment stopped. I heard running and shouting, then the sound of weapons.

“Dizep! Dizep!” It was the distinctive sound of Brint weapons.

Urgma dropped the stimulator and went for his weapon, but it was too late. Captain Nez dropped him like a giant boar in the Texas brush. Urgma was only stunned. The Brint would want to torture him for information. The rest of Nez’s platoon finished off the remaining Syngoth.

“Nez, am I glad to see you.” I said as I regained control of my nerves and muscles.

“Morti, you old space scoundrel. It’s good we got to you before you gave up the galaxy!”

“Me? Are you kidding? He didn’t faze me!”

Captain Nez just shook his head of curly blue hair. “Yeah, the transmitter we sewed into that hide of yours broadcast your screams loud and clear. They sounded like the screams of a desperate Dymlan.”

“Believe what you wish, my Captain. I am a mental fortress!” I laughed as I thought of the irony. Urgma said nobody could hear a scream in space, yet that was what had saved me.

“Come on, Morti. We gotta get you and Urgma out of here. There is a pack of Syngoth ships headed this way. We are outnumbered and our best option is to run.”

I followed Nez toward the airlock, then I stopped and turned around. I retraced my steps and picked up the Neural Stimulator and put it in the case. My revenge on Urgma would be sweet and oh so slow. I imagined his screams when I poked that cantaloupe head.

“Hurry up, Morti!” Nez said. “You’ll get your chance with him soon enough. I promise you. Right now I need you manning the shields!”