8
With the rumble of the engines humming throughout the ship, the radar system was turned on and quickly able to ping down the exact location of the alien. It was a crude setup, only displaying a basic, three-dimensional map of the Novara and little more than a white smudge against the bluish screen background representing the alien’s movement, but it was all they needed. The thing was in some place between floors one and two, probably crawling in vents and other spaces not meant for traversal. It had stopped somewhere near the stairway, and had been stationary for nearly ten minutes now. Sitting at her seat on the Bridge, Terri watched the screen intently, rarely blinking. Metal communication sets were set upon both her and Rosalyn’s heads.
“We can’t risk turning on all the lights and burning through more fuel than is necessary,” Rosalyn announced to the men over the radio, “and you’ll only have maybe thirty minutes max before we’ll have to cut the engines, but it should be enough for you to get there, find what we need, and come back. You’re set to go.”
Terri had to admit, it was a major, major relief to know where the alien was at all times. If they had really taken the notion of a stowaway more seriously, they might have done it earlier, but of course it was little help in discovering what something was, only where it was. And after all, the radar could easily have picked up Brady the cat rather than the alien. It seemed clear to them now that Brady was missing or dead, however, and with the strange location and quick movement of this white dot, and the absence of any other dots (besides the five representing all the crew members), they were certain they were looking at the killer alien.
On the other end of the radio line, Sam, Al, and Randy opened the door from the dining area to the north hallway, dimly-lit and chilly. They took utmost care not to make a sound.
Randy led the way forward with a flashlight in hand, followed closely by Al, who held his makeshift spear close to him, and trailed by Sam, who carried a wrench. The vapor of their breath was starting to become visible in the air, their unease almost as palpable. Even with the engines having just been turned on again, the ship seemed lifeless.
They crossed the hallway, looking all around for any sign of something out of the ordinary, and approached the opposite door to the common room. Randy tapped buttons on a wall panel to slide the door open. They entered.
The common room, usually a warm and inviting space, the homiest area of the ship, was now dark and dead-looking. Couches and comfortable chairs lay in the shadows, televisions powerless, and near the stern-ward door was a small bar and a little, useless refrigerator that used to contain many of the ship’s beer bottles. Randy shined his light over everything, biting his lip and wishing he was elsewhere. The rims of his glasses felt cold on his skin.
Sam looked down at the floor, the only carpeted one on the entire ship. It was his favorite place to be, or had been. Now it was too exposed; in the center of the Novara with too many places the alien could approach from, they would not return here until it was finally dead. He swallowed.
Al kept nervously tightening the string on the spear that held the bowie knife secure. His worst fear would be trying to strike with it and it suddenly breaking off, leaving him defenseless.
Randy pressed another button on the wall to open up the door to the south hallways. They stepped through the door and looked down the long passageway, shining the flashlight.
“Are you sure we can’t spare having some lights on?” he complained to Terri and Rosalyn, at a whisper as always.
“Randy, you’ll be fine with us watching you. There’s still no movement,” assured Rosalyn on their comm sets. “Keep going. You’re doing good.”
The hallway was lined with doors on both walls leading to small closets or mineral study rooms and the like. Halfway down the hall was a four-way crossing, the right heading to Mineral Storage A and the left to Mineral Storage B. Straight ahead would take them to their destination, the loading deck. They proceeded onward, speaking nothing, shivering in the cold and stepping as lightly as they could while moving at a reasonable pace. As they crossed past the intersecting hallway, Al couldn’t help but notice a few tears in the ceiling.
“You guys see this?” he said, pointing to it. They turned and grimaced.
“What is it?” Terri asked.
Randy cursed and breathed, “This thing’s been around, apparently.”
“Don’t stop,” reminded Rosalyn.
They reached the end of the hallway and opened the door to the loading deck. Inside, they found themselves in a tall-ceilinged room filled with shelves and mining supplies of all kinds, lit only by the light of their flashlight and small lights in corners and by the door. Windows to the outside showed darkness falling and low clouds sweeping over the rugged landscape.
The frigid cold actually ceased somewhat here, and no wonder: the hum of the two engines—one to the right of this room and one to the left—filled their ears. They could no longer see their breath, and Randy’s glasses even fogged up a bit at the corners.
“Alright,” Sam said with a sigh. “Let’s look around quickly.”
“I’ll check over there,” said Randy, pointing to a large set of shelves at their nine o’ clock.
“Sam and I can’t see without your flashlight, so we’re gonna go with you,” Al reminded him.
“Right. Best not to split up anyway, I guess.”
They crept over and started looking through bins and boxes of supplies—piles of screws, nuts, bolts, drills, cables, and other odds and ends. For several minutes, all was quiet.
“It’s moving a little bit… Looks like it’s going downstairs,” said Terri, fear evident in her voice. “Yes, it’s heading down the stairwell. You’re still fine.”
They exchanged uneasy glances.
After switching to a set of shelves nearer to the spot where the second mining rover was stored—tied down to the floor with clamps along its treaded wheels—Randy came upon a spray gun they didn’t often use, made for shooting acidic substances in a controlled stream. It was fairly useful for breaking down stone that got in the way during the mining process, but it would be a terribly destructive tool to use on the ship.
“Hey,” said Randy, “how about the acid gun?”
He lifted up the gun. It had a large body of solid, black-painted metal, a thin nozzle at the end, and a tank of acid on the underside.
Al furrowed his brow. “We’ve already got one too many holes on this ship, Randy.”
Rosalyn chimed in. “I agree. We can spare the time to look for a weapon that won’t ruin the ship.”
“No, no, hear me out,” he argued. “What if we switch out the acid for gas and add a lighter on the end?”
Al cocked his head, setting his spear against the shelf as he approached to take and examine the acid gun. “Yeah…that could work. This actually saves us a lot of time making one from bits and scraps. You’re smarter than you look, Randy.”
Randy gave a sarcastic laugh as he beamed proudly. “Now we just need a gas or propane tank.”
He pointed the light around slowly for a bit, and all three of them looked carefully at each shelf as it was illuminated.
“There!” said Sam.
He had spotted some squat, cylindrical propane tanks stacked on the second highest shelf, about ten feet up.
“I think the ladder broke off of this shelf,” groaned Al. “Is there another one anywhere around here?” Al wondered.
After a moment, Rosalyn’s voice came on the comm set. “There should be one against the port-side wall.”
Sam looked over at the opposite wall and scanned the bevy of supplies stacked and stored around there. “I’ll find it. My eyes are adjusted well enough.”
He jogged over, ensuring his feet only tapped lightly on the floor, and began looking around the shelves on the port side for a big ladder, which should have been easy to locate.
It was beginning to get warm in the room. Randy wiped sweat from his forehead, and Al felt beads forming on hi
s arms with rolled-back red sleeves. The hum of the engines grew more noisy and violent.
“Not much more time,” said Rosalyn.
“Yeah,” Sam said between breaths as he peered around sets of shelves, “we’re working on it.”
“It’s going directly underneath you,” warned Terri suddenly. “Probably climbing on the fuel storage tank. Watch your steps.”
Sam moved a little bit softer, and could barely force himself to breathe. He found the ladder at last, folded up and stored in a corner shelf—a bit more difficult to find than he’d expected—and carried it on his back. Grunting, he made his way carefully to the other end, nearly tripping a few times. Sweat dropped from his forehead to the ground.
Reaching the others, they helped him set it down on the floor, extended it up, and rested it gently against the side of the shelf.
“Here, take the flashlight, Al. I’ll brace the other side of the shelf,” said Randy, heading over to make sure it didn’t fall over backwards. An unlikely scenario, but the caution wasn’t unwarranted.
“Hold this for me,” Al told Sam as he handed him the spear and started up the ladder. Sam braced the ladder for him. Al went up for one tank of propane at a time, carrying each one down extremely slowly and with great care, clutching it against his chest with one arm. He would exchange it to Sam, who would lift and set it down lightly on the floor. Al stopped at three.
“That’s all we’re gonna be able to carry. Do either of you have a lighter?” he asked, unscrewing the acid container from the spray gun.
Randy returned to them, retrieved his flashlight, and dug a lighter out of his pocket. “I gave up smoking at the beginning of this trip, if you’ll recall,” he said with a wry smile, “but thankfully I still haven’t kicked the lighter-carrying habit.”
“Thank God.”
Al tried to fit one of the propane tanks to the gun, but cursed in the process. “The size is way off. I’m going to need an adapter…and some duct tape.”
Sam sighed. “We’ll keep looking, then.”
“Probably only ten minutes left before we need to shut it down, gentlemen,” said Rosalyn. “If not less.”
“We’ve nearly got it. Just a minute,” Sam assured her.
Another search began for the particular adapter size Al needed—some small metal piece that could connect the opening of the propane tank to the opening of the ammo connecting pipe on the gun.
Randy was starting to feel jittery. “Is our stowaway staying put?”
There was a short silence.
“Guys?” Randy said with a hint of fear.
Rosalyn responded. “Uh… It…it looks like it’s going outside the ship, just on the underside of the loading deck.”
“How the hell did it get there?”
A four-letter-word escaped Terri’s lips. “It must have made another hole in the hull,” she said with crushing defeat.
Al growled. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. The longer this thing lives, the more damage it does.”
“I don’t like the proximity we’re dealing with here,” said Sam.
“You don’t have to get everything in one go, guys,” said Rosalyn. “You can always come back later.”
Al shook his head. “I’m not taking that chance. Let’s find that adapter fast.”
They searched for another five minutes, testing various candidates. None of them fit quite right. The hum of the engines continued to build.
Terri’s voice came on again. “Whoa! What’s ——o——ing————”
All three of them looked at each other, and as they did, the engines suddenly shut down with a whirr. All their eyes went wide.
“Terri? Rosalyn?” said Al frantically.
“They can’t hear you with the engines off,” said Sam, frozen in place, knees bent and arms slightly raised.
“What’s going on?”
A moment of silence, terrifying silence, passed.
“————y, can you hear us? Hello?” It was Rosalyn’s voice.
They all sighed in relief. “What just happened?” asked Sam.
“The engine heat level spiked suddenly,” she answered. “We had to shut it off for a moment. I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to leave now.”
“Where’s the alien?” said Randy.
“I…I don’t know. We’re not picking anything up yet.”
He sighed heavily, rubbing his unshaven face, then looked down at his feet, unable to keep still.
“Here, I’ve got it,” said Al, setting aside his spear again. He took the closest-fitting adapter they’d found so far, just slightly too thick to fit, and set it on an empty space on the metal shelf. Then he took Sam’s wrench and started pounding the adapter down.
“What are you doing?!” Randy cried over the clanging.
“It already knows we’re here,” said Al. “It’s probably about to drop in on us. I’m not going to be helpless when that happens.”
The two men grimaced at him, but didn’t object as he finished pounding it with muscled arms. He threw the wrench back to Sam, picked up the adapter, and hastily fit it onto the gun.
“You done?” asked Randy, still incredulous.
Al didn’t look at him. He felt adrenaline making his hands shake. “Just let me fit the lighter onto the nozzle.”
Randy looked ready to faint. Sam looked around with mouth hanging open. He snatched Al’s spear and held it out towards the darkness.
“No time to look for duct tape,” Al said as he took a simple electric drill and screwed the lighter onto the nozzle. It buzzed noisily for a few seconds.
With a proud sigh, Al set the drill aside and lifted up their new, beautiful creation. He flipped on the lighter, aimed the nozzle in the air, and tapped the trigger for a split second, sending a small spray of propane out of the nozzle and through the lighter’s tiny flame, turning it into a burst of inferno. He laughed heartily.
Without another moment’s hesitation, Sam and Randy picked up their two extra propane tanks and hustled to the door, caring somewhat less about however much sound they made. Relief washed over them as they opened the door and hustled down the long, dim hallway to the common room, Randy’s flashlight lighting their way. Their footsteps echoed, and the air became cold and sterile again.
“Any updates?” asked Sam, looking over his shoulder. Vapor puffed from his mouth.
“Not yet…” Terri replied anxiously.
They hustled down the hallway, passing by the intersection.
“There it is!” Rosalyn cried. “It’s…it’s in Mineral Storage A.”
That was the room immediately to their left, which was somewhat worrying. They passed by numerous doors on the walls until they reached the end of the hallway, with a door to the common room.
Randy tapped the door panel with his free hand in great haste, carrying a propane tank under the other arm.
“What the hell…?!” he breathed. “It won’t open. Terri! Roz! It’s shut!”
“The alien is coming closer! It’s crawling in the ceiling, moving north!”
“I understand, just open the damn door!” he said with voice hushed but heated.
Rosalyn answered, “It must be the electricity malfunctioning. It could be temporary or it could not be.”
The three of them stared helplessly at each other, their breathing short and rapid.
“It’s at the wall between Mineral Storage A and the common room.”
Randy tapped on the panel several dozen times more. It still would not open. He cursed the ship and gritted his teeth, sputtering.
There was great terror in Terri’s voice. “It’s in the common room. Oh, hell, it’s in the common room!”
It was possible the alien would head towards the Bridge and kill Rosalyn and Terri, who were completely defenseless there. Not one of them knew what to do. There was a long and silent moment.
Suddenly something loud banged against the door from the other end. The men jumped in shock and stepped back, nearl
y dropping their propane tanks.
“It’s breaking down the door from the other side!” cried Rosalyn.
“Get in the closet!” Al said, gesturing to their right with his flamethrower. He opened the door and waved them to enter. Randy and Sam hustled inside and Al closed the door behind them just in time.
The room was dark as pitch—just a broom closet with mainly cleaning supplies. Randy and Sam backed up against the wall while Al peered through the tiny slits in the door allowing him to see into the hallway.
The door burst open in two pieces.
That thing is strong! he thought, his eyes big. He and the others held their breath and remained still as statues.
In the dark he saw a figure step forward on two limber legs into the hallway, breathing deeply and gutturally. It was shorter than he had assumed: five feet tall, perhaps—a full foot shorter than Al—and yet monstrous nonetheless. Clawed fingers looked ready to rake a human into a bloody mess. The back was arched and it dragged behind it an incredibly long tail with a white spike. Stopping just past the doorway, it looked around with soulless eyes and sniffed. Al watched it in petrified horror, trying to ready himself to light the flamethrower again if it decided to try and open the closet door. After sniffing around for a few seconds, it scraped one set of its claws on the wall to its right before walking forward on four limbs, its footsteps eerily light. Al waited until it passed out of his sight.
Slowly he inhaled again. “We’re safe,” he whispered. “Rosalyn and Terri, tell us when it turns the corner.”
“It’s nearly to the intersection,” replied Terri between deep breaths. “…Almost… Hold on… Now! Quietly…”
Al nodded to Sam and Randy, who both felt like vomiting, and opened the door softly. It squeaked the faintest bit, and Al stepped out and looked to his left. The hall was empty. On the floor before him were the two halves of the thick, metal door. How that creature had had the strength and durability to cut through metal, he did not have a clue. He held the flamethrower close as he moved into the common room, trailed by the others.
Seclurm: Devolution Page 12
