by S. D. Perry
Just stay calm, say your piece, don’t upset it.
He reached the humming consoles, all thoughts of trying to drive a hard bargain completely lost. Getting out of this alive was all he wanted, and he’d do whatever the alien being asked of him to manage it. He had to make it see that he could be useful, could—help it to trap the others, take it to any port, anything.
“They’re trying to destroy you,” he said, not caring that his voice shook, that he was no longer the man who had walked into this nightmare with his head held high. “But you know that, don’t you . . . ?”
There was a noise behind him and Everton whipped his head around, saw another biomechanoid stir to life. This one had a human head—except for the camera lens that was grafted into the left side of its face, which turned towards him with a mechanical whir. A light set next to the lens went on, the yellowish beam striking Everton.
He turned back to the computers, searching desperately for something more to say, something to stop the fear inside that was threatening to swallow him up.
I’m a captain, I—I can do whatever you want; don’t you see, I HAVE NO CHOICE.
A half-dissected human torso on the table nearest him slowly sat up, swiveling towards him, oozing fluids dripping from the open cavity of its chest. It had been decapitated, the stump of the neck jagged with flaps of skin and tissue, the gleaming white of crushed vertebrae protruding from the mass of gore.
Everton’s sickened, terrified gaze fell to the table, saw that the head of the corpse sat next to the body—and that it was Woods. The helmsman’s eyes were open and glazed with death, but even as Everton stared, the dead gaze of his crewman seemed to fix on his own. A pathetic, pleading look that secured Everton’s horrified silence with the truth of the matter.
He had made a mistake.
The heavy door to the workshop closed gently and Everton started to scream.
• 22 •
Hiko managed the cold steel rungs in front of him for what seemed like forever, limbs trembling with fear and exhaustion. He felt the beat of his heart throbbing in the torn flesh of his leg, each flex of the muscle a fresh burst of pain.
He tried to think of a prayer as they ascended the scuttle, but all he could think of was the song about the three baskets of life that his kuia used to sing to him and his sister after his parents had died, the soothing lilt of her voice sending them off to sleep. He gave up praying and thought of his grandmother instead, and his parents. He’d be joining them soon.
The terrible screams of the monster had fallen away, but had been replaced by a roaring that grew in strength as they climbed higher. Hiko dreaded the sound, feared it more than the creature they’d faced below—but he’d known all along, deep down, that this was how it would be.
“Wait,” Nadia called, and they stopped while she fumbled at a latch in the darkness.
The Russian grunted with exertion and threw the hatch open. The roar of the Tawhirimatea enveloped them, cold rain and wild, screaming wind tearing through the scuttle. They had reached the top deck of the Volkov.
Hiko felt the weight of the war club against his hip and tried to accept how it was—but he couldn’t. He was going to die at the claws of a furious sea, eager to claim him after waiting for so long, and he was terrified.
Nadia pulled herself up and reached down to help him. Hiko wondered why the vicious storm hadn’t ripped her away and saw that the maintenance tunnel was covered, at least partly. It was the satellite dish, the one that had fallen to the deck; the giant antenna acted as a shield against the worst of the violent winds.
He limped onto the thundering deck, helped Nadia hold the hatch open as Foster and Steve crawled out. The railing around the exit had been mostly crushed by the massive dish, but there was enough for them to steady themselves against the lashing typhoon—at least for the moment.
Hiko looked out at the giant swells of the ocean and saw only death. Tons of Tangaroa surged up, tossing and rocking the ship, crashing against the bow, and calling his name. It was worse than his worst nightmare, the battering waves thrashing over the open deck beneath a black and boiling sky.
Nadia pointed up, yelling to be heard over the raging storm.
“The antenna control room! We’ll be safe there!”
Hiko looked up, saw the glassed box that she meant, and shook his head, gripping the railing as another hundred tons of foaming death slammed into the hull of the ship. They’d never make it, he’d never make it. He curled his arm around the pipe, touched his wahaika, and closed his eyes.
“What’s his problem?” Foster called.
“He’s afraid of water!” Steve answered.
“Hiko—?”
He opened his eyes, saw Foster and the others staring at him, saw sympathy and disbelief.
“I—I can’t swim!”
“Hiko, your greatest fear, remember! You gotta face it! You won’t die!”
Hiko looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and nodded once. He didn’t know if he would survive, but he wasn’t going to shame himself by cowering and whining like a child, forcing these people to drag him away from the railing.
They started across the sea-washed deck, edging towards the mounted ladder that would take them to the antenna room against the gusting winds. Hiko refused to look at the churning, angry water that surrounded them, knew that it would be the last thing he saw if he allowed himself to look. Rain bit into his skin, bruising his tired flesh as he stared down at his feet, the wahaika clutched in one trembling hand.
Steve screamed back at him, urging him on. “Twenty more feet to that ladder! Climb up to the door! Real simple!”
Hiko glanced up, unable to believe that they were that close—and saw that it was true.
The wahaika was going to save him. Hiko started to grin, the stone suddenly warm beneath his fingers, its power coursing through him. It was true, his grandfather was right, he wasn’t going to die—
The ship keeled suddenly into a trough and Steve fell to the deck, water sloshing across him and piling him into Foster. She lost her balance, flailed wildly before falling next to him.
Hiko didn’t stop to think about it. He limped forward and knelt, helped Steve to his feet and let Foster balance against his crouched form. When the two of them were stable, he stood up and they continued on.
Nadia reached the ladder first and started to climb. The others made it to the dripping rungs and Foster went up next, Steve meeting Hiko’s surprised gaze with a tight grin before he followed.
The touch of the wet metal filled Hiko with an almost violent relief. He tucked the wahaika into his belt with numb fingers and started up after them, delirious with joy and a newfound hope; if the Tangaroa could not hurt him, anything was possible. Maybe there was a way to thwart the evil that had taken over the Russian wakataua, for all of them to make it to safe waters alive and—
—and from the deck below, a door exploded open, torn off its hinges by the seven foot monster that stepped out onto the heaving deck and started for them.
Foster heard the crash of metal, saw the thick metal hatch break through the railing and disappear beneath the thrashing waves. Her stomach knotted as she opened her mouth to scream a warning—
—and a giant metal fist crashed into the steel plating only inches from her face, puncturing the solid metal as if it were paper.
Foster screamed, half turning—and caught sight of the monstrous creature through the whipping curtain of rain, the multiple legs and arms moving smoothly beneath the pulsing lights of its human brain.
The towering biomechanoid lunged forward as she scrabbled at the rungs. It tore at the ladder, bolts snapping as it jerked, hard—
Foster screamed again as the rung slipped from her hands, wind and rain howling with her as she fell—
—and warm, muscular arms caught her awkwardly, gripping her tight against the clutches of gravity and the brutal gusts of wind.
Hiko!
Foster managed to find her balance as t
he Maori boosted her into Steve’s reaching grasp. She caught just a glimpse of Hiko’s face, his eyes flashing with anger and disgust, before Steve wrapped an arm around her and lifted her up.
Hiko screamed something in his native tongue, the words foreign but the meaning crystal clear as he jerked his club from his belt. His powerful war cry thundered over the crash of waves as he leapt away from the ladder and onto the creature’s mutant body. With a scream of fury, Hiko buried his weapon in the biomechanoid’s gelid brain.
Sparks flew as the creature spasmed, its limbs flailing wildly. Hiko yanked his war club out of the pulpy mass and struck again and again, slashing at the power cables of the thing’s spine in a frenzy of rage.
Clinging to the wet rungs, the three of them started shouting for Hiko to get away as a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the terrible scene below. Hiko didn’t let up, pounding at whatever he could reach. Blood and circuitry flashed amidst the relentless waves of rain, and the massive biomechanoid turned, its legs sliding on the slick deck as it struggled brokenly to get back to the open hatch.
My God, he’s killing it!
A massive clap of thunder shook the Volkov and both Hiko and the staggering giant fell to the deck, Hiko still slashing and pounding. Flesh and bone were smashed, wires spitting out sparks, metal twisting beneath the tribal club—
—and a huge swell crashed over the deck, tons of water driving Hiko and the faltering creature against the shattered railing. The biomechanoid skidded wildly out into the turbulent sea and disappeared.
“Hiko!” Foster screamed, watching helplessly as the stunned deck hand struggled to hang on to the side of the ship, his dripping club still gripped in one hand.
Foster saw the second massive wave only a split second before it hit.
NO!
When the foaming water poured off of the Volkov’s, quaking deck, Hiko was gone.
After what seemed like an eternity, Steve looked up at her, and she at Nadia. There was nothing they could do except climb.
Nadia crawled off the ladder and braced her legs against the top rung, helping Foster up with one cold, strong hand. They both gripped at Steve’s shirt, pulling him up, and the three of them opened the door to the control room and staggered inside.
Steve slammed the door, and Foster felt almost deafened by the sudden quiet. They were in a large, shadowy room, consoles and charts lining every wall except where hatches were inset, leading to another area. Storage, probably . . .
Foster walked to a window, stared down at the stormy waters below.
“We lost him,” Steve said.
Foster watched the churning sea and felt a lump rise in her throat. “Maybe he made it to another part of the ship—”
Steve sounded almost angry. “Not a chance. So much for facing your greatest fear.”
“Hiko saved our lives,” she said softly, then turned to look at the others. Nadia had already disabled the surveillance camera and moved to the fore window, arms crossed tightly, her expression troubled. Steve had unshouldered his bag and was digging through it with shaking hands, obviously upset. Her and Hiko’s empty semi-automatics and a few handfuls of loose rounds fell across the table. He pulled out his flashlight, checked it, then his walkie-talkie.
“Walkie still works,” he said, then dropped it back into the bag and stared down blankly at the table.
Foster looked around the room aimlessly and saw the rack of emergency equipment by the entry—a fire ax and extinguisher, next to a half dozen life jackets hanging from a bar. Hanging there uselessly, when Hiko was dead, unable to swim at all. Without one, he’d had no chance . . .
Nadia turned away from the window, frowning. “It is steering the ship.”
Foster nodded. It had to be, or the Volkov wouldn’t have made it this far. She reached for her compass, then saw that there was one bolted to a chart table near Nadia. She walked over, checked their heading, and then studied the chart. It was of the South Pacific.
“It’s not just steering, it’s navigating,” she said, and traced her finger across the paper, stopping at a tiny speck. She couldn’t read Russian, but she knew what she was looking at. “Lord Howe Island.”
Steve frowned. “It’s just a small island, there’s nothing there—”
Nadia stared up at them, eyes wide. “There’s a British Intelligence station there. They have digital linkups to every military and commercial satellite in the Southern Hemisphere . . .”
Foster’s heart was sinking. “If it gets into a communications satellite or the transoceanic Pacific—it could go anywhere.”
There was a tense silence as they stared at one another in the swaying room. It was broken by a burst of static from one of the consoles.
They all whirled around, startled, as a man’s voice crackled into the control room over the ship-to-ship.
“This is the NOAA Research Vessel Norfolk transmitting in the clear to unknown vessel. Received Mayday from your position at oh eight-twenty hours, we have you on radar.”
Jesus, Richie’s Mayday got through!
“Is this Research Vessel Vladislav Volkov? Is your vessel in distress? If you are receiving but cannot transmit, please respond by rocket or flare, over . . .”
Steve turned to them excitedly. “We need a flare gun—”
“No,” said Nadia quietly. She walked to the radio and turned it off. Steve stared at her, astonished. Nadia went on, her voice weary and sad.
“If anything, we need to warn them away.”
Foster nodded slowly. “She’s right. This thing is isolated here on this ship; it views the human race as its own personal organ donor. We can’t let another ship near us.”
Steve closed his eyes and sank to the floor. He looked up at them, and Foster saw how exhausted he was, how very, very tired.
“We have to sink this ship,” he said.
No one spoke for a long moment. Foster opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say until it came out.
“How?”
Nadia reached into her satchel and pulled out a thermite grenade, looking between the two of them with a troubled gaze. Troubled but resolute.
“Flood the hold with fuel and detonate it.”
Steve nodded. “Works for me.”
“One more question,” said Foster. “How do we survive?”
Nadia put the grenade back in her waist bag, staring down at her hands. Steve met her gaze evenly, forcing a half smile onto his weary face. He shrugged, and she found herself smiling back at him.
They wouldn’t make it. She’d known before she had even asked, but couldn’t stop herself from hoping that maybe one of them had some miracle in mind—
The air stirred and Foster turned, saw that the hatch into the storage room had come open. There was a man standing there, silhouetted by a light behind him, but Foster recognized the shape, the scruffy, weathered outline of his face—and she was almost glad to see him, to see that he was still alive.
“Captain Everton!” she said, amazed that he had gotten here on his own, that he had escaped the creature—
—and then he stepped forward, and she realized that he hadn’t escaped at all.
• 23 •
The thing that had been Captain Everton stepped out of the shadows of the storage room, trailing a power cable behind it. They stared at him, shocked into silence by the grotesque thing that he had become.
Nadia felt her heart twist and shrivel in her chest; the intelligence had done to him what it had done to poor Alexi. Half of Everton’s skull was peeled back, a viscous blue gel surrounding his exposed brain; twisted ropes of wire lay across the glistening tissue. His upper body seemed otherwise untouched, but his legs had been dramatically altered—thick plates of metal covered the fronts and sides, riveted through muscle and into bone. She could see cords woven through and around the plates, hear the click and whir of circuitry as he moved into the room.
Foster backed away, her eyes wide and terrified. Everton turned his head t
owards her, the movement strange and unnatural, a machine tracking motion.
“Foster, don’t you know me? It’s me, Bob, your captain.”
The intelligence had gotten better at simulating humanity; he, it sounded almost the same as the captain had before. Nadia looked around desperately for a weapon, but she’d discarded the empty rifle below, there’d been no more ammo. Steve was fumbling through his pack for a clip and rounds as Everton stepped forward, his expression a caricature of hurt curiosity.
“Is something wrong?”
Foster snatched up a chair and swung it around, connected with his face so solidly that the supports snapped. Everton barely flinched as the pieces clattered to the floor, as blood began to pulse from a tear beneath his right eye socket.
The captain’s arm came up and he back-handed her, dropped her sprawling to the deck. His lips curled back with rage, revealing crimson teeth.
“I’m your captain! You will treat me with respect!”
Steve had dropped the bullets. He ran to the door and grabbed the fire ax, then wheeled around and rushed at the captain. Foster scrambled to her feet and lunged for the pistol.
The hollow thunk of the ax blade penetrating Everton’s sternum was sickening, the metal wedged tightly. The biomechanoid looked down at the half-submerged blade with blank eyes, assimilating the information.
Steve backed away to where Foster stood. She jammed a partly loaded magazine into the .32 and pointed it at Everton.
“We know where you’re going,” she said.
Everton looked up and spoke tonelessly now, the voice of the intelligence with no pretense of emotion. “I know you do.”
The creature reached up and gripped the handle of the ax. With a single easy pull, the blade slipped out and Everton hefted it into both hands.
“There’s a whole world waiting out there,” it said.
Foster fired and bone and tissue flew from between the captain’s eyes. Wire flopped out across the waxy forehead, hissing and twisting as trickles of the blue fluid ran down the thin metal.
