Voices of the Lost

by C. S. Harte

  Dren felt the hairs on his arm standing as they crossed the threshold of the mystery ship. As a variant of the Nemean clone line, apprehension and anxiety were supposed to be bred out, impossible feelings. Scared soldiers were dead soldiers. He scoffed as he processed the churning in his stomach and tightening in his chest — anxiety, dread, fear. The eggheads back at Fleet Science never had to stare a Voidi down or fly into an alien death trap. They never experienced real fear. His pulse rate jumped again. A warning flashed on his HUD telling him to calm down as his heart rate spiked to 210 beats per minute.

  “Private Arvol,” Kara’s avatar appeared on Dren’s HUD. “Are you dying on me?”

  “No, Sir,” Dren replied, trying to sound convincing.

  “Good,” she said gruffly. “We don’t need to lose before the actual fighting starts.”

  “Are you expecting a fight, Sir?”

  “Listen Arvol, stop asking stupid questions. No one gets to kill you but me!” She sneered. “That’s all you need to understand.” Kara cut the private comm abruptly, and her avatar disappeared.

  Cloning technology wasn’t perfect. Sometimes “bad batches” happened, according to the eggheads at Fleet Science and Research. In such cases, the standard operating procedure was to “recycle” the “shells” and start over. Dren had always thought he came from a bad batch. It had been one sol year since his creation. There was a mistake and somehow, somewhere, he slipped through the cracks.

  As the Timor touched down against the flooring, the blue illumination switched off, replaced in a flicker by an intense white light. The walls of the hangar bay seemed lined with a reflective substance, amplifying the strength of the light to near-blinding proportions.

  The rear of the Timor lowered, creating a ramp onto the flooring which had a frosted glass appearance to it. Like winter captured and stored.

  Dren was the first one onto the ramp. He hesitated before stepping onto the alien ship, wondering if it could withstand his weight in addition to the Timor’s. It was a silly thought given he was part of the ship’s weight; his mind made up reasons not to continue forward.

  Kara shoved Dren who almost tripped and fell as he stumbled off the Timor. “Always forward, marines!” she said in a jeering tone.

  “Always forward,” Phoenix Company echoed.

  Half-expecting the surface to be slippery and weak, Dren took short measured steps until he was sure of its safety. To his surprise, the textured surface wasn’t slippery. Instead, it was rubbery and slightly spongy. He looked back at the 250-meter wide entrance the Timor entered through. Gone. Not one line or clue to show where a door could have been.

  Kara and the other marines also seemed confused with their new surroundings. They panned their heads in all directions probably looking for what Dren was looking for — a way out.

  Kingston had his rifle in his hand, finger on the trigger.

  “You expecting something, Pops?” Jann asked.

  “Can’t be too careful, kid.” He forced a wink and a half-smile.

  “Fan out!” Kara ordered. “Someone find an exit out of this damn place.”

  The other marines followed their Seargent’s lead and withdrew their rifles from their back holsters. They dispersed into different parts of the cavernous, rectangular room.

  A sour taste filled Dren’s mouth. He could hear his own breathing inside his Tempest suit. Everything was too quiet. There were no ship sounds like those heard on human ships. No engine humming, no slight vibrations of the floor plates. Someone opened the door for them, but the host didn’t show. Nothing added up. Out of the corner of his eye, Dren glimpsed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and twisted his torso around.

  The hand disappeared.

  100 meters away from Dren, standing next to the Timor, the host finally made an appearance. At first, Dren wasn’t sure as she blended in with the snow white surroundings. He zoomed in with his ocular implant, and sure enough, there was a little girl, human in appearance, wearing a white jumpsuit standing silently with a set of unusually long arms hanging down to her knees. Her outfit almost perfectly matched the color of the surrounding walls, giving her the illusion of a disembodied head. She appeared young, under 10-years-old with silvery-white hair. Her eyes were closed or rather non-existent, sealed shut as if her eyelids had fused with her cheeks.

  “Commander…” Dren uttered.

  “I see her, Private.” Kara advanced toward the little girl.

  The alien girl held up a hand. Her mouth opened, but only unintelligible sounds came out — a series of screeches and whirls with no breaks between breaths.

  To Dren, her voice had a melodic quality to it, the pitch resonating in his mind like a siren’s song. His suit’s onboard auto-language translator failed to interpret it.

  “This can’t be good,” Veillon said, backing away.

  “Shut it, Private,” Kingston said. “Comm silence while the Commander initiates contact.”

  Kara froze in place after taking two steps.

  The little girl floated closer. Like the bottom of her shoes had wheels.

  Alarmed, Dren tried to move behind his commander. He too, realized his body had been paralyzed. He struggled at first, but no amount of will would move his limbs. His eyes dried from not being able to blink.

  With a flick of her wrist, all the marines instantly teleported in front of the little girl. Each hovered a few centimeters off the ground, arms and legs still immobilized.

  The little girl repeated the same garbled sounds.

  With only a few meters separating Dren from the alien girl, he saw her as almost human — minus the sealed eyes. She had two arms and legs, a torso and a proportionally sized head. Still, Dren knew better than most that looking like a human did not make others see him as one.

  “Something is moving behind her eyelids,” Jann said in a voice jittery with fear.

  “It’s probably eyes,” Wyrick said matter-of-factly.

  “Can anyone of you apes move?” Kara asked over squad comm.

  “No,” everyone answered.

  At least they could still talk and move their eyes. After struggling for minutes, Dren tried to activate his strength neuromod. His suit, like his body, refused to respond to his commands.

  Suddenly, the little girl faded and distorted, like a hologram with a malfunctioning projector. The right side of her body bubbled. Her skin pulled and stretched. It seemed like something was trying to push through.

  “What… What’s happening?” Jann mumbled.

  “That’s just gross,” Veillon said.

  “This can’t be good, Boss,” Kingston said.

  Dren felt a small release of tension knowing others also witnessed this freakish phenomenon.

  “Everyone, SHUT UP!” Kara ordered. “Let me do the talking. I am Commander Kara of Phoenix Company. We’ve been sent by the Commonwealth of Man. We intend you no harm. If you could just…”

  Kara’s voice drifted after witnessing the little girl split in two. Like cell division on a macro-level. Now there were two alien girls in the room, the new one an exact duplicate of the old.

  Before Dren could process what was happening, the newly congealed girl, alien-2, approached him with her right arm extended. She was much smaller, standing at Dren’s waist height. Alien-2 floated upward. The latches on Dren’s helmet began unlocking.

  Dren heard his Tempest suit depressurizing.

  “Hey!” yelled Kara. “What are you doing to my marine?” she growled. “I’m talking to you, you little asexually reproducing amoebic freak!”

  The air had a strange, sticky sweetness to it, like being in a room full of ripe fruit. Weird, but breathable. With each breath, his lungs itched, making him cough.

  “Hang in there, Private!” Kingston said. “Whatever’s happening to you, fight it!”

  “Voids!” Jann shrieked. “We’re going to die!”

  Hanging in the air was literally what everyone else was doing since the little girl appeared. Dren la
ughed. It was a small giggle at first, but it quickly became unstoppable. He didn’t understand what was so funny. Pain swept across his chest. He wanted to stop, but resisting only intensified the misery.

  Kara’s helmet and the other marines’ helmets unlatched at the same time. They joined Dren in the laughing hysteria.

  Alien-2 kept an expressionless face. She was eye level with Dren. He could see irises scurrying behind the sealed lids.

  Her tiny palm reached for his forehead. When it connected, Dren felt a searing hot torment behind his eyes. Like magma flowing into his skull.

  Stop! Stop! STOP! He tried to yell. His words kept confined within the limits of his mind, never crossing his lips.

  The little girl’s mouth curled into a smile as if she was enjoying the torture.

  Dren laughed even harder upon seeing the smile. He heaved between bouts of laughter. I can’t breathe… His lungs burned. He hadn’t taken a breath since the hysteria started and couldn’t force his diaphragm into contracting. His face, along with the rest of the squad’s, turned blue from the slow, painful asphyxiation. Dren closed his eyes as an uncontrollable sleep settled in his mind.

  Alien-2 floated away, vanishing through a wall.

  In a flash, everything reset to the way things were before the torturous laughter. The squad’s helmets all returned to their heads. The doppelganger alien was gone. Only the original little girl remained, in the same position as when she first appeared.

  The pain of constant laughing, the burning sensation in Dren’s chest disappeared, replaced with a cool relief across his body.

  “You are species 87134,” said the little girl. Her voice sounded synthesized but recognizable. Like English, after it was processed with dozens of audio filters. “You will be added to the collection.” She made a downward motion with her hand.

  Clapping sounds echoed through the bay as heavy boots slammed the floor. Every marine regained control of their limbs. Immediately, they armed their weapons and trained them on the little girl.

  “Collection?” Kara said, waving her subordinates to hold their fire. “Listen kid, we’re not joining some interstellar zoo. Let me talk to your Captain.”

  “No,” she turned around and floated away like the other alien girl. “That is not possible.”

  “Wait!” Kara screamed while trying to chase after her. A loud thud sounded as she collided with an invisible wall.

  The white walls of the room dimmed, slowly fading to black.

  “What’s happening, Commander?” Dren asked.

  “Everyone, turn on your suit lights!” ordered Kara.

  One by one, beams of light sliced through the darkness and terminated on metallic gray walls.

  The squad found themselves in the middle of a four-way intersection.

  “Did we get transported somewhere?” Jann asked.

  “Seems so,” Wyrick replied indifferently.

  Dren lowered his eyes to the floor. Grated, silver metal replaced the bouncy material of the hangar bay flooring. He shined his light through the holes.

  Dozens of reflective black eyes darted back and forth. Some stared directly back at him.

  3

  It took a second to register in Dren’s mind. Scaly black, scorpion-like creatures with hundreds of eyes. MIMICS! Yet, this shouldn’t be possible. All Mimics were wiped out after the Battle of Final Hope when the Blessing of the Guardians happened. He had to alert his squad. But what if I’m seeing things? What if they’re not really there?

  “MIMICS!” Jann yelled and discharged his rifle.

  The Reapers below squealed an ear-piercing screech as the first volley assaulted them. They thrashed against the grating with hammer-like claws, warping and distorting the only barrier between marines and Mimics.

  Wyrick and Veillon joined Jann, unloading their weapons into the horde below. Only some bullets went through, the others ricocheted around the corridor, potentially doing more damage to themselves than the Mimics.

  “Stop! Stop!” Kara ordered. “You’re just helping them break through!”

  “Where’s Sarge?” Wyrick asked.

  “Kingston, report!” Kara ordered.

  His bio-signal didn’t register on Dren’s squad list. “Maybe Pops didn’t come with us?”

  “POPS!” Jann shouted.

  The Mimics called out with their distinctive clicking sounds. If these Reapers were like the others Dren had heard of, more of them were on their way. It didn’t matter how Phoenix Company got there, they couldn’t stay.

  Dren searched for an exit route. Darkness shrouded every path. He heard footsteps running toward him and spun toward the source. His light and weapon aimed at the sound, ready to fire at the first visible sign of movement.

  “It’s me,” Kingston raised his hand.

  “Pops!” Jann beamed a smile. “You made it!”

  “This way.” Kingston waved his arm, gesturing the others to follow him into the south corridor. “I think I found something.”

  “Everyone!” Kara yelled. “Follow Sergeant Kingston. Move! Move!”

  The team rumbled down a shadowy tunnel for what seemed like twenty minutes, but only one had passed. The sounds of clicks from the chasing Reapers echoed behind them.

  “Where are we going?” Dren asked.

  “To the exit, I hope.” Kingston abruptly stopped at a dead end.

  “We’re trapped!” said Jann in between raspy breaths.

  “No,” Kingston took a step forward. “Watch…” As he neared the wall, a small black sphere, the size of a balloon materialized out of thin air, floating stationary at Kingston’s chest. “This could be a command interface.”

  “Looks like a mini Mimic sphereship,” said Veillon, stepping back. “I wouldn’t touch it with anything I wouldn’t want to lose.”

  Kingston faced away from the orb. It disappeared behind his back.

  “Back away from it, Sarge.” Kara tapped Wyrick and Veillon on the shoulder. “Cover our rear. Wyrick, switch to cryo ammo. Veillon, arc projectiles. Kill anything that moves.”

  Wyrick and Veillon took position 20 meters in front of the group; both dropped to one knee.

  “I don’t see any uglies,” Veillon said, trembling.

  “Good,” Kara said in a calm voice. “Buy us time if you do.”

  Kara moved to where Kingston once stood. The matte black sphere re-materialized. Its surface appeared smooth, devoid of imperfections. She performed a bio-scan with her forearm console. Thin blue laser light danced as it traced the object.

  Dren did the same with his ocular implant, looking for clues on how to activate it.

  “It’s some inorganic matter, silicon-based.” Kara reached out her right hand aiming to touch it. “I don’t think it’s Mimic tech.”

  “Commander,” Dren called out. “It might not be safe to…”

  “Shut up, private!” Kara held her breath as she moved her fingers closer. She hesitated at one centimeter away, seemingly uncertain if she should continue. The pause was brief as she surged her hand forward. Her entire arm went through the sphere. “A hologram?” she asked with an uncertainty.

  At the same time Kara pushed her hand through the orb, Dren heard footsteps behind him. He spun around to see a male figure in a black exo suit approaching him. Neither Wyrick nor Veillon seemed alarmed that a stranger had just passed through their perimeter. Another ghost. Not now… Please… This mysterious man approached the floating device, stopping where Kara stood, occupying the same space as the commander. Definitely a ghost. But Dren had never encountered this one before. This meant something, but Dren had yet to puzzle out the meaning. He opened his mouth, wanting to warn Kara, but the words never left his tongue. Is this really the best time to showcase how crazy you are with your squad?

  The man in black reached his hand out like Kara before him. But before doing so, he did something dangerous. He removed his gauntlet, breaking the air-tight seal of his suit.

  Quickly, Dren checked the atmospheric
analysis on his HUD.

  81.2% Nitrogen.

  13.3% Oxygen.

  1.7% Carbon Dioxide.

  The rest was a mixture of inert gasses.

  Temperature: 266.3 Kelvins.

  Not ideal for humans, but for a short duration, survivable. What is he doing?

  The man in black repeated a single motion of placing his exposed hand on the sphere. A few seconds later, like a choppy replay, the loop restarted at the beginning with his hand back at his side.

  Until this point, Dren’s delusions had never directly tried to help him. They’ve been a major source of frustration for Dren existing only to fray his sanity. This ghost appeared different. It lacked the uncanny glow and seemed as if he was directing Dren toward an action.

  “What are you staring at, Arvol?” Kingston asked. “You figured out something?”

  “Commander.” Dren moved next to Kara who was still demystifying the orb. “I have an idea.”

  She nodded and stepped back to give him space.

  The man in black disappeared as Dren approached the sphere.

  With everyone watching, Dren took off his Tempest suit gauntlet.

  “What are you doing, marine?” Kara grabbed his wrist. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Dren looked up into Kara’s eyes. “Sarge is right. This is a command interface. This thing only interacts with biologicals.” He continued removing his glove with Kara allowing him. “I checked atmospheric readings. There is enough oxygen to support life for a quick test.”

  Kingston glanced at Jann. They both shrugged their shoulders at each other.

  “Quick being the operative word, Arvol.” Kara crossed her arms. “Remember, you don’t get to die unless I say so.”

  “Yes, Sir.” After removing his gauntlet, Dren slowly lowered his palm onto the sphere. Once his flesh contacted the surface, the orb suddenly expanded, doubling in size. Bright scarlet lines appeared on the surface, forming concentric circles of different sizes and thicknesses. The entire exterior filled with ringed patterns.

  “What did you just do?” Kara asked with her eyes wide like full moons.

  Dren didn’t have an answer to give. With his hand still on the sphere, Dren opened and closed his fingers, the concentric circles moved and shifted in size. He then tried motioning one finger at a time. Shifting his index finger made the circles project off the surface of the sphere forming a three-dimensional pattern of rings and loops.