by Ofelia Negra
“Is everyone OK?” Hamilton’s voice penetrated the fog in front of Marcus’s eyes. He nodded his head silently, unsure if his Commander was even looking his way.
“What?” Davis exclaimed. “What the hell were you thinking? Were you trying to get us killed?”
“I just saved our asses, Miss Davis,” Hamilton replied in that manner-of-fact tone Marcus could swear was almost a duplication of Captain Matthews. “If we’d aborted at that speed and distance, we’d have smashed right into the side of the Pandora. Now settle down, and let’s get to work!”
Marcus reached for the clips of the safety harness and found that they’d been bent out of shape. As such, he wasn’t going to be able to detach it the normal way.
He fought down a cough, and then called out. “I could use a little help over here.”
“Hold on, Marcus,” Hamilton said, turning away from the reddened, scowling features of our computer specialist. He drew his pistol, flicked a setting on its power output, and then trained it on Marcus’s chest. He fired, and the discharge melted the safety clasp, popping it open.
Marcus disentangled himself from the straps, and ignored the clanging of the clasp pieces falling to the deck as he got up from his chair and rotated his shoulders in their cuffs to loosen them up a little once more. “Thanks,” he said to Hamilton. The man nodded back with a smile as he holstered his pistol.
“Corporal, report,” he said, turning back to the nav stations.
“I’m not getting any readings from the port booster,” James replied, sounding frustrated. “And we’ve lost comms and autopilot. It’ll take some time to fix.”
“Alright,” Hamilton said with a sigh as Davis turned to face Marcus. “Let’s get some extra hands from the flight deck to help out.”
Marcus busied himself with slipping his PDT helmet into place and latching it shut. Then he checked all of the PDT’s systems to make sure that they were functioning correctly after the crash. After checking on Hamilton’s PDT behind his back, Davis made her way over to Marcus and gave his systems another once over, irritating him almost to the point that he felt like snapping at her for it. Then he reminded himself that, as a computer specialist, she probably considered it her job.
“I’m done,” she said over her shoulder to Hamilton. “Clean bill of health for everyone.”
“Alright,” Hamilton said with a cold nod to her. He followed it through with a less-cold nod to James, who got up from his seat. “We’ve still got a job to do. We’re moving out.”
Johnson got up from his seat as well, and both he and James walked past Hamilton, then Davis and Marcus toward the shuttle’s midsection where the hatch was. James shot Marcus a cheeky smile, while Johnson merely glared at Davis out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t seem to notice, or else didn’t mind, as Hamilton too passed them and followed them out.
Davis was the last to go, and she stopped for a second to smile at Marcus before leaving the shuttle as well. Marcus followed a few steps behind her.
He stepped off the shuttle’s boarding ramp onto the catwalk running along the shuttle’s port side. It was sturdy, but his boots, and those of the rest of the team, clanked loudly against it with each step.
The Komet’s hull was blistered and scorched almost entirely along the port side. Sparks flew from holes ripped into the outer hull. Davis, standing in place now as Marcus walked by her, winced when she looked at it. Marcus himself could barely stop himself from cursing aloud.
“Welcome, PMC employee, to the PFC Pandora …” The sound of the flight deck’s PA system took second to Marcus’s ears when Davis started to speak up behind him.
“You didn’t lose power to the port booster,” she said with a rueful sigh. “You lost the port booster. Unbelievable!” Marcus turned and looked around her to see that she wasn’t exaggerating in the smallest iota.
Where there should have been a port booster toward the rear of the ship was nothing save a gaping hole. Sticking out from that hole was a mess of cables and support struts that barely passed for what they were supposed to be.
Marcus shook his head in disbelief. He knew now that they were going to be here longer than the forty-eight hours Davis had specified they’d need to fix the ship’s comm array. Not that he particularly had a problem with that, since it meant more time spent with Nikki… and yet, something wasn’t quite right.
“Where’s the flight deck crew?” he asked as he and Hamilton walked side-by-side past James and Johnson.
“Strange,” Hamilton murmured beside him. “There should have been a crew out here, especially after the way we came into the bay.”
Marcus nodded and they stopped in front of the door to the flight lounge. Marcus waited for it to open, as it should have on automatic. It didn’t.
“I guess the power’s down everywhere,” Hamilton said with a shrug. “Kira; get over here and hack the door locks. We need to get in.”
Without a word, Davis stepped around Marcus, taking Hamilton’s spot in front of the panel beside the door after he stepped out of the way. She hit a control on her PDT’s wrist panel and then keyed in a sequence into the door panel. When it didn’t work, she repeated the procedure. It took her four tries to get the door open, admitting them to the flight lounge.
Marcus stepped through first, eyes darting back and forth as he examined every inch of space. The flight lounge was a dichotomy of appearances. There wasn’t a single person in sight; no flight crew, no operators or conductors. But there was plenty of mess. Rubbish was strewn around in places, and there were luggage cases and bags thrown onto chairs or dumped on the floor in the way.
The rest of the group followed behind Marcus, all at a slower pace and branching out around the lounge to look for clues to explain the absence of crew thus far.
“Seems like everyone was trying to pack in a hurry,” Davis said from the large door to Marcus’s left.
“There should be a security detail in here,” Hamilton said, seemingly ignoring her.
“Yeah?” Davis challenged. “Well there’s not! There’s nobody here! I can’t pick up any broadcasts.”
“Marcus, check out the security console back there,” Hamilton directed, pointing through the glass window to the operations room.
Marcus nodded and went through the nearest door to him. At a cautious pace, he advanced through the hall and around the corner to the indicated security console. He looked out through the window, watching as the rest of them continued to check out the flight lounge.
He hit the audio comm. on his PDT. “The console’s still live,” he said.
“Log in and see what you can find,” Hamilton replied. “Kira, get the elevator back online.”
“Power’s dead!” Kira exclaimed. “I can’t!”
“Then reroute the damned power!” Hamilton snapped testily. Marcus looked up from the security holo-panel in front of him to see that Hamilton was glaring coldly at Davis, daring her to reply bitingly. “Look,” he said, breathing through his nose, “if we all cooperate, we can figure this out a lot sooner. Just get that computer display up, Marcus.”
Johnson, facing Marcus now, rolled his eyes and rechecked the safety on his pulse rifle before turning to his own right and taking a couple of steps in that direction.
Marcus keyed in his PMC personal identity codes in the holo-panel and waited for the system to recognize them. When it did, the screen changed to show a layout of the PFC Pandora. Several places on the hologram were highlighted in red. Marcus knew that those places were security checkpoints throughout the ship. Marcus keyed his PDT to transmit the hologram to the others so that they could see what he was seeing.
“Huh,” Johnson started, seeing the hologram himself from his own PDT. “That doesn’t look good. She’s taken a lot of damage.”
“The tram system’s offline,” Hamilton said. “Getting around is going to be difficult.” He stopped and looked up and around at the air vents around the flight lounge. “The air seems to be flowing again; th
at’s a start.”
Marcus made to retrace his steps back to the lounge when, suddenly, the holo-screen began to flash an angry red at him. Alarms blared, both in the checkpoint he was in and out in the flight lounge where the others were. The main lights went out for all of them, and orange-yellow emergency warning lights strobed in the main lounge.
Johnson, James and Hamilton reacted instantly, bringing their pulse rifles to bear and scanning their views for threats or hostiles. Since the rifles each had a built-in flashlight, the three of them peeled away sections of the darkness temporarily as they scanned the flight lounge. Kira Davis, by the other door leading to the lift, drew a pistol from its holster and began the same routine.
Marcus, the only one of them that was apparently without a weapon, felt exposed, endangered.
“What the hell is that?” Davis asked nervously.
“Automatic quarantine must have tripped from the filtration system we started,” Hamilton replied. Marcus noticed that, under possible threat, he seemed a little warmer toward Davis. “Everybody … relax!”
A thud from overhead drew Marcus’s attention. He looked up to see nothing save solid steel roofing. Instinctively, he backed up into the corner, and listened as the thud sounded again, this time from a few meters away.
“What was that? Did you hear that?” Davis said.
“I’m not sure,” Hamilton replied.
Sparks flew as, through the window, Marcus saw a panel of the roofing in the flight lounge break free from the rest of the ceiling and clatter to the floor. A great, pulsing mass dropped down immediately on top of it.
“What the hell?” Johnson said, looking away from where the ceiling panel had falling right behind him, as if oblivious to it.
“I don’t know! Something’s in the room with us!” Davis exclaimed.
Marcus saw it first. The great mass that had dropped down behind Johnson was unfurling; standing upright on two vein-covered, bloody legs. Its arms came up on either side of its body, ending in meter-long deadly spikes that looked like they could punch holes clean through any of their PDTs.
The thing came up behind Johnson, and it was then that Marcus acted. “Johnson!” he screamed into his audio transmitter. “Johnson! It’s behind you!”
But it was too late. Johnson only started to turn in the direction of the coming threat as it came down upon him. It drove its long spikes into Johnson’s back, one at a time, seven times in a row. Johnson managed to scream as the spikes drove into him a third and fourth time, drawing the attention of Hamilton and the others.
“Jesus! Open fire, open fire!” Hamilton shouted. The thing was faster, swiping both of its long spikes at Johnson’s neck at the same time.
They cleaved through flesh and bone alike, and Johnson’s head popped off like a cork, and then fell to the deck with a thud. The thing went down as well, ducking behind the lounge to avoid the incoming pulse rifle fire from both Hamilton and James, and the single-shot fire from Davis.
Marcus tried to block out the long, single-toned beep of Johnson’s PDT transmitting his complete lack of life signs to the rest of them. Still shocked, he found himself unable to move from the corner, unable even to blink as the thing with the spikes took one bullet in the chest, then two, still kept moving as if it hadn’t been touched.
“Kira, power!” Hamilton shouted urgently. “Kira!”
“C’mon, c’mon …” Davis muttered to herself over the open channel.
Finally, Marcus blinked, and moved. He stepped up to the window and watched as another fleshy, bloody thing stood up from where it had dropped down from the roof near James. James hadn’t noticed it. His pulse rifle was still unloading bullet after bullet at rapid speeds in the direction of the first thing.
“James!” Marcus shouted. But too late. The second thing stabbed both of its spikes through James’s upper chest plate, piercing through with no apparent difficulty until they came out through the back of his PDT.
The thing swung him around, and Marcus watched as the PDT’s healthy monitor stripe declined segment by segment until there was nothing left but black.
“Got it!” Davis shouted in triumph.
“Marcus! Get the hell out of there!” Hamilton screamed at him over the channel.
Marcus reacted instantly. He dashed over to the nearby open door and looked through it, almost blinded by the sudden spark of something shorting out over his head. Then he turned and looked to the other door, only to see that the locking panel was glowing red… the quarantine, he remembered.
“The door’s unlocked! Run!” Davis screamed, most likely at Hamilton. Marcus ignored it.
He dashed out through the open doorway and down the hall. Smoke almost obscured his view, smoked from shorting systems. Sparks lit every few steps he took, as if the systems were shorting in response to his mad dash.
An abominable roar rent the air, and a loud clang behind him made him turn. Another thing had dropped down through the roof right behind him, and was just starting to stand.
Marcus’s blood was pumping. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he quickly turned away from the new thing and dashed around the corner and down the sloping hall to another corridor.
“Run, Marcus! Get the hell out of there!” Davis’s voice came from his PDT.
Breathing was becoming difficult. Smoke was coming through Marcus’s PDT’s filtration system and burning his lungs with every gulp he took. That, plus the fact that he was running as fast as he could in full PDT gear didn’t make things easy on him.
Another horrid screeching came from behind, but this time, Marcus didn’t turn around to investigate the source. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that it could only be one of those bloody creatures, dropping through the ceiling to come at him.
He pressed on, rushing down the corridor, pushing his muscles, pushing his lungs. He willed himself to continue. He willed himself not to die here, like Johnson and James just had.
Up ahead! He saw it! A lift! The panel near it glowed blue to signify that it was sitting at that level, as if waiting for Marcus to jump in.
“Thank fuck!” he breathed, pushing himself more.
The screaming of the fleshy, spiky things and the thuds of their chasing footsteps was enough to keep the adrenaline pumping in Marcus. Though, if not for his survival instinct, they might also have made his blood run cold, freezing him to the spot.
But he couldn’t allow that to happen. Absolutely not! He couldn’t let himself end up like Johnson and James.
He reached the lift and hammered down on the control panel with a closed fist. It busted, and he swore loudly. But the doors opened anyway and he stumbled forward until he crashed into the rear wall of the lift pod.
Another rabid keening made him turn to the open door. His heart froze when he saw half a dozen of the things racing each other down the corridor, their spikes slashing wildly in front of them as they vied with each other for the right to be the first to tear into Marcus’s suit and flesh.
He pushed off the wall lightly and reached out to toggle the holo controls next to the door on the inside.
The doors came together with a loud clang.
“That was too close,” Marcus breathed, leaning heavily against the back wall again.
He tried to get his breathing under control for a moment, closing his eyes and resting his hands on his knees for support. His lungs were still drawing great, heaving breaths of air, and Marcus couldn’t exactly fault them after the adrenaline rush he’d just experienced.
Suddenly, a pair of razor-sharp spikes pierced through the gap where the doors joined together, prying the doors slowly, but powerfully, apart.
“Fuck me runnin’!” Marcus screamed. Panic took him and he hammered on the controls to shut the door over and over. The doors began to fight back against the thing’s intent.
But it wasn’t enough. It pried the door completely open, half-stepping into the lift. Marcus saw that it almost looked human, except that it was covered from head to
foot in flesh, blood and veins. Its lower jaw was missing, and two small arm-like protuberances were growing from below its rib cage, which was partially exposed.
It screamed at Marcus, its eye sockets naught but blackened pits now, devoid of eyes entirely.
Marcus screamed back, loudly, fearfully. He knew then that this was it for him. The lift controls had failed him, the doors weren’t closing. He’d seen these things stab James to death, and decapitate Johnson. Now, it appeared, they were going to get him too.
He wondered, only for a fraction of a second, what had become of Hamilton and Davis. Had they escaped from the flight lounge, and these horrific monsters? Or had they been skewered, their PDTs proving useless against the strong bony spikes of these fleshy things? Had Hamilton taken any of them down with his rifle, or Davis with her pistol?
