The doors opened, the walkway extended, and the gray wind howled. Purple Company could no longer hear each other’s voices, save through the communicators in the helmets. They walked, very slowly, out of the Atticus.
Ox was the next to last to touch the planet’s surface, and when he did, he buckled. The Waykind fell to one knee, grunting. When the others turned, they watched him remove his helmet. No longer in his friends’ ears with the microphone, the Waykind let out a deep and burdened roar. Even in distress, he was careful not to harm the others. Nitro approached, concerned for his friend.
His labored roar slowly dipped into speech. His booming voice could be heard over the howling winds. “Apologies, friends. I should’ve expected this.” He clenched his jaw, his staff helping him to his feet. “So much death.” He squinted and raised his chin, as if looking out over a crowd. “I must be the first of my kind to greet them.”
The group watched as he slowly stepped away from whatever he was staring at, waving his hand as if to say goodbye. Slowly, the Waykind donned his helmet once again. And they walked.
3
I swear to God, if I see one more ad for the relief effort for the Blues, I’m gonna lose it.
You guys on Maxia got it easy, somehow. They didn’t fuckin’ stroll past us!
We got our fuckin’ asses kicked, and now they want our help?
Fuck no.
Sorry, I just hate all this.
We fought a war, for shit’s sake.
And everyone keeps looking at what we did to them, but nobody wants to talk about us!
I was there, man.
And I can’t forget it.
Anonymous transmission,
Scrambled month, scrambled day, 2302
Sabile:
Research Station 2
Nitro tried to ignore the disappointed looks on the doctors’ faces when they arrived. Although it had happened once or twice in his career, he hadn’t grown accustomed to civilians mistakenly thinking he was their savior. He almost always was not the savior, merely the transport to a new kind of awful. He sometimes wished he was paid to do more noble deeds, but that feeling usually passed once he got the paycheck. Still, in the moment itself, it was hard to ignore.
Most of them sat around a large table: the doctors, the assistant, the mercenaries, the pilot, and Gally. The only one missing was Martin, who was taking an urgently needed long hot shower, followed by an urgently needed shave, an urgently needed haircut, and an urgently needed nail trim. Doctor Lee sat with perplexed eyes, palms up on the table, as he took orders from someone he’d never seen before but assured him she was in charge. Nitro, who was leaning against a wall, smiled to see this experience from the outside for once.
Technically, Gally was the division that ran the division in which Doctor Lee worked, so she absolutely had the right to give the orders; they just sounded so strange. The plan was, essentially, to keep calm and carry on amid the dead people and dwindling supplies.
Lee was trying to cope with the new plan, and wasn’t succeeding. “Station One is dark too,” he muttered, grabbing his hair.
Doctor Howlette’s face was in his hands as his elbows leaned on the table. “And now, I can’t help thinking they were killed too.” His face only left his palms to give an anxious look around. “We don’t have the resources to continue the work without the other stations.”
“What’s needed?” Gally stayed calm while projecting a sense of urgency. It wasn’t something she was well practiced at, but it had fallen over her recently. She refused to let anything get in her way—and that included the needs of the eggheads.
“Food, for starters,” Mitch grumbled, having not spoken before. “Station Three just ran out, and we’re short as well.”
Boomer looked to his captain, who shrugged and nodded, knowing what he was thinking and allowing it. “Well, we’ve got food,” Boomer added. “And we can make supply runs.”
Harper laughed through his nose, realizing he had just been volunteered for another trip through that awful atmosphere. “We can’t risk re-entry, so off-world isn’t an option, but I’d be happy to make trips to collect supplies that are still on-planet.”
Lee nodded, conceding that the plan would suffice. He turned to Gally while the others silently contemplated. “I want to see it,” he finally said, and the others were mildly surprised. “I want to see Station Four and know what we’re dealing with before agreeing to stay here.” The other doctor and the assistant nodded in agreement.
Gally held back a scoff. They were in no position to make demands, and their agreement was not required for their compliance. It was their job. She—and Purple Company and all their food—could pick up and leave without them at a moment’s notice. But she didn’t mention that; she just nodded, wanting to explore the site herself anyway.
Harper leaned back, knowing he’d be busy for some time. Frankly, he was happy to be of use during their stay here. Spinning around in his chair and slapping its arms, he stood up. “I’ll prep the ship.”
“Ox, go with him.” Nitro pointed with his chin. “Let us know if you see anything unusual.” Ox’s thumping footsteps trailed off with the pilot.
“Also, if I can ask–” Howlette raised the concern that the rest of the doctors were thinking. “Who is in our shower at the moment?” Mitch had given the man his razor, some scissors, and a change of clothes. It had been at least an hour since he heard the water start running.
Gally grinned and looked around, interested in seeing the reactions when she told them. “That is Doctor Martin Collier.”
The three men were astonished. Lee slapped the table and spun in his chair. Howlette found disbelief and spoke on it. “He doesn’t look anything like the holo-tapes.”
Josie smirked sympathetically. “Five years in a Herulean isolation booth’ll do that to you.”
Lee stared in the direction of the washroom, arms dropped in astonishment. “I let him walk right past me.” He shook his head. “Five years?” It finally occurred to him what Josie said, and he looked back at her to see her nod. The implications of psychological impact were all present to the doctors, though none mentioned it aloud. Still, the very thought of it made Mitch curse under his breath. Whoever Martin was before he went in there, he was certainly not the same man now.
“You’ll be working with him closely, as he may be able to determine what’s happening here.” Gally tried to recapture the attention of the star-struck scientists.
Howlette shook his head, as if it was a simple explanation not seen by simple minds. “Well, clearly, he didn’t get them all.”
Nitro was more annoyed than his response dictated, not wanting this particular form of nonsense to continue. “Lieutenant, total number of Herulean engagements during your deployments?”
Josie snapped back. “Fourteen, sir.” She turned her chair to him, back straight and attentive.
“Any of them leave their enemies hanging out a window?”
“Sir, no, sir.” This answer was more casual, more proud.
“And why is that, private?” Nitro looked to Boomer.
Boomer also straightened himself to answer, though at a slower pace. “Because they honor their planet and they honor the dead.” He demonstrated, for some reason, by putting his hand flat against the table. “Every enemy they kill planet-side is placed face down, lying flat on the soil. And yes,” Boomer anticipated one of the doctors protesting, so he pointed to one of them with a knowing grin. “Every one.” He wagged his index finger playfully.
Nitro took Ox’s seat at the table because there was plenty of room in his wake. “I want to make one thing clear,” he announced, knowing Gally would allow it. “Once we go get the doctors from the other station, you’ll all be under my charge.” He looked around the table. “I’m happy to let you all work, but when I say jump, I expect some distance between you and the ground. No questions, no deviations. Clear?”
The white-coats all nodded in agreement, and a strange feeling sudde
nly came over Gally: This might actually work.
The water had turned cold, but he didn’t mind. He stood in the shower for what must have been over an hour. The white curtain hung close to him as the steam began to dissipate. Losing himself within the hiss of the water and the long-running ecstasy of freedom, Martin closed his eyes.
The sound of the water hitting the tub slowly drifted away from him. The pressure it applied against his skin nearly vanished. All that was left was the feel of a hand against his back, soothing and gentle. The water rushing by him was then a whisper against his ear: a warm breath accompanied by a familiar, merciful voice. “Poison,” she said.
He whipped the shower curtain away, stumbling to open it as quickly as possible in the tub. But there was nothing there. Only he, naked, panting, and feral, stood in the empty bathroom. It took time, but he convinced himself he was alone and stepped out of the tub.
Stepping up to the sink below the mirror, it was hard to acknowledge his reflection. Not because of how much he’d physically changed since the incarceration, but he found that he no longer focused on his face as easily [as one does when looking into the mirror]. With a huff, he decided he wanted to remember. He wanted to see what he looked like, even if he didn’t recognize that person.
He used scissors on his exceptionally long and frail nails, and that whittled them down enough for him to use clippers. The beard practically fell off on its own, as Martin was slowly discovering more and more effects the prisoner diet had had on him.
He’d decided to lose the beard entirely, and noticed that his face seemed more gaunt than usual. His reflection looked exhausted and sad. His eyes seemed sunken, darkened, and lonely. “The hell did they do to me,” he muttered before realizing how long his hair had gotten. As he cut it, he tried to remember how his old hair felt, but he couldn’t. All he remembered about it was the fact that he’d never grown it past his ears.
Upon finishing, he stared at himself in the mirror once again. His eyes still had trouble focusing on the face, but he put his hands up below his chin and smiled. The smile faded quickly, however, and a sad expression refused to leave. He was a long way from his youth. And while he could medically explain the effects he was feeling—both physically and mentally—those logical thoughts usually occurred well after the emotionally devastating ones.
That, he decided, was another effect of the confinement. Not only was he starved of food, but of mental stimulation and work. After he’d finished dressing himself, he gave himself a determined look in the mirror. His jaw swayed, assessing his new “skin and bones” look, which was accompanied by an “I did it myself” haircut. “We got work to do, bud.” He pointed to himself with a less-than-convinced grin. It didn’t feel like talking to an old friend, as it used to; this was more like coming to terms with a new roommate.
The clothes that were lent to him were akin to something from a star-port souvenir booth. The powder blue T-shirt and red shorts felt crisp and thin. They were not like the well-worn and oiled rags he came in with.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel slightly refreshed as he walked to the door and opened it. He walked out, towel and old clothes bunched in his arm, and heard a slight commotion. Three figures in white coats rushed into view, stopping at the other end of the hallway to stare at him excitedly.
Collier stared with one eyebrow raised, frozen with a mix of confusion and fear. Finally, one of the three figures waved, leaning forward as he called out across the hall. “It’s an honor to work with you, sir!”
Martin raised a stiff hand to wave back and a nervous smile appeared on his face as he slowly made his way into a private room. “Did you see that?” he heard a voice squeal in a whisper. “He’s wearing my shirt!”
Doctor Collier quickly closed the door.
Sabile:
One-and-a-half long and unfortunate miles from Research Station 2
On their walk back to the Atticus, Harper kept looking back at Ox, who walked the whole way, looking at things that weren’t there. Harper thought it was finally something to talk about. “What are you seeing?”
“Heruleans,” Ox said calmly over the coms, despite his answer unnerving Harper. “Millions of them. The dead come to my people as guides to leave the mortal plane, but I cannot help all these people.”
Harper pushed through the gray snow, finally being able to make out his ship: a beautiful sight, considering the arduous walk. “You look like you’re looking for something.” He panted as he spoke and decided that he was out of shape.
“The souls of my parents.” Ox was having a much easier time navigating the environment. “I’ve yet to see them since I left my kind.”
“Must be rough.” Harper approached the wing of the vessel and patted it. “Or freeing.” He shrugged, worried he’d said the wrong thing. “I don’t know.”
Ox shrugged as well, the expression on his wide face calm and pensive. His response was quiet and hesitant. “I fear they disapprove of me.”
Harper smirked as he pulled open a hatch. “Yeah, join the club.”
The ship started up with no trouble, for which Harper was grateful. Before long, they were in the air and back on their way to the research station. When they arrived, Harper saw part of the station’s roof open up. It was a roofed landing station that opened to greet and receive the Atticus. “Wait,” Harper said to himself as he squinted in disbelief, leaning forward. “Was that always there?”
Once the rest of the team was aboard, Mitch was their guide. He sat in the co-pilot’s seat, after being made to promise he wouldn’t touch anything, and advised Harper to follow the red, blinking beacons. The wind, while it wasn’t quite as bad as when they arrived, provided some slight need for course correction as they flew, but it was easy enough to keep track of the beacons. Frankly, he was relieved to be able to even see out his window.
Gally leaned in the doorway to the cockpit, silent and serious, as she watched the Atticus fly over each beacon. It was only about a mile and a half’s distance between Station Two to Four. Doctor Lee and Doctor Howlette surmised that if there had been an attack, they were lucky not to have been hit as well.
Harper took a moment to clean his glasses, as they should have been able to see it by now. He checked the sonar for any indication of a building, but there was none. Rather than express his concern, his eyes shifted to Mitch, and he watched him react in the same way. The last red beacon flashed in the gray snow, but it guarded nothing. “It—what the hell?” Mitch leaned forward, wiping the window with his sleeve as he looked closer. “Where is it?” Harper looked at the assistant, expectantly. “No, it was right here. It’s supposed to be here!”
Lee and Howlette came to investigate as well. While they didn’t help to calm Mitch, they stared out the window, saying nothing while Mitch carried on, as if in an argument with reality.
Gally tapped Harper’s shoulder with a fist. “I want a closer look.” Harper nodded without looking back at her.
Sabile:
Research Station 4—at least, where it ought to have been
Boots on the ground, Nitro’s tense eyes scanned the area from the safety of his helmet’s visor. These things did not just disappear. Buildings did not disappear. From Nitro’s experience, either the kid was mistaken, or whatever attacked the station had come back. The captain secretly hoped the lab assistant would realize that he’d missed a beacon somewhere. But he never did.
“Stay close,” the captain said over the coms, masking his nerves. They all had their own environment suits, but the better armor was saved for the Company, and Nitro found himself wishing they had more sets. The wind brushed cold bits of gray across his face, and he wiggled his nose. His hair still standing on edge, he gave an order. “Shepherd Protocol Gamma.”
“Acknowledged,” Boomer was heard over the coms. Each member of the Company assigned themselves to a certain number of crewmates, and kept themselves within a triangulated position of their charges.
The team approached the
big empty spot where the station should have been. Howlette plopped his hands at his side, turning around a few times in amazement. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly.
Gally explored the space, careful not to stumble over the rocky, snow-covered terrain. She looked up and watched Boomer trip over something, only able to shout half a curse before falling flat. She stepped forward to help him, but something crunched beneath her feet that was not snow.
Mitch walked over with an outstretched hand, but he found Boomer preoccupied by what tripped him. He sat up, grumbled, and brushed gray snow off the ground in front of him. It revealed a piece of metal that seemed to go on for a while. Worse yet, it appeared to have been chewed down to about ankle height. Boomer looked on, baffled, as Mitch was the first to put the pieces together. “Is that—”
Gally looked down and kicked the snow around her feet, trying to ascertain what crunched below her. It was glass. What’s more, it was old test-tube glass that sat above a metal tiled floor. Her eyes widened.
“Is this what I think it is?” Mitch could be heard over the coms, uncertainty muddling his voice.
Boomer spun onto his knees and tried to get a closer look at the object that tripped him.
Howlette seemed to be encouraged. He dropped to his knees and scrounged around in the snow. Knowing Lee would be puzzled, he explained himself. “Flash drives, servers, notepads,” he muttered as he swept with his hands. “Anything.” Lee followed suit.
From inside the Atticus, Harper sat in his cockpit, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, yeah, go ahead; we have enough fuel to make snow angels. Absolutely.” He gave a half-hearted glance to confirm that he hadn’t broadcast that to the whole team. Just above the button to do so, however, he thought he saw something outside the window.
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