Entity

by Donald Morrison

  “There’s more,” Vuong said softly, clicking on the next video. “This is four days later.”

  On the monitor was the same woman. She looked nervous and was beginning to stammer when something spooked her from behind and she turned, her chair landing noisily on the floor before bolting out of the room and disappearing into the hallway. The video continued recording, the empty room behind.

  “I skipped ahead a bit,” Vuong said, moving the timeline on the video ahead. When it started again, the timestamp showed that two hours had passed. Baker squinted at the screen, moving slightly closer to Vuong’s chair. On the monitor a shadow moved in the hallway; moments later being replaced with the little boy from the earlier video. The boy stood in the doorway, staring at the camera blankly, his face dirty, with dark stains splashed across the front of his clothing; the same from the first video. There were lines down his face where tears had run through the dirt. Behind him a banging sound echoed through the hall. They could hear a man yelling for him to unlock the door, that he just wanted to protect him. The boy turned and darted down the hall. A minute later the banging stopped with a loud crack, the sound of the front door breaking away from the latch that held it tight. Seconds later the man walked past the room without glancing, heading in the direction the little boy had run.

  Fascio felt his skin tighten as his legs began to tremble.

  “It gets worse Sarge…”

  Fascio turned his gaze from the screen.

  Vuong clicked another video. This time the camera showed the interior of the main airlock. The door opened up as a man in an envirosuit stepped in. He looked disoriented, his gaze locked to the floor. Baker felt a shiver run up his arms. After a moment the man reached to the pack at his belt and disengaged the suit. Baker watched as he stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the floor before lifting his gaze to the outer airlock door. There was no sound, but he could see his lips moving, words being directed at the empty space before him for a moment before he stepped forward and engaged the outer seal. In an instant all the air was sucked from the room and the man brought his hands to his throat, gasping for air before falling to his knees and then crumpling to his side. Baker stood there, watching as blood began to pour from the man’s eyes and ears before Vuong reached up and turned the video off.

  The security room stayed silent, the only sound coming from a distant creak of metal. The men were struggling to register what they had just seen. Walking past it in the halls, their imagination allowed them to create all manner of rational explanations, but witnessing it in person. There was nothing rational, nothing sane. Each of them wrestled with the horror that sat frozen on the monitor.

  “There’s dozens of these,” Vuong said, slowly turning in his chair. “Every person in this facility either killed themselves, or took as many people with them before they did. I’ve checked every camera, every angle and watched the last fifty video logs. Everyone in this station’s dead Sarge. Every one of em.”

  “What in the hell did they find out there?” Sarge whispered, his gaze moving to the still image of the dead man in the airlock frozen on the screen.

  “I,” Talmadge started, pausing to correct himself.

  “We need to get to the director’s office.”

  Baker stayed quiet. The weight of what he had just seen sat heavy in his chest. He had no doubt in his mind, whatever it was that had caused all this; whatever had killed this entire facility, or caused the people living there to kill themselves and everyone else in it, came from whatever it was they found out there. He needed to find out what that was, and make sure whatever it was, wasn’t now hunting them as well. He moved his gaze to Vuong who sat quietly looking up at him. “Keep searching. See what else you can find. There’s gotta be something that can help us figure out what’s going on here. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Sarge, none of this is ordinary.”

  “You know what I mean Corporal. Just keep looking.”

  Vuong nodded, turning back to the monitor.

  “I’m gonna stay here with Vuong and review the files. The rest of you are going to get Talmadge here to the director’s office. Let’s find out what the hell it is that they found out there.”

  11

  The stench of decay continued to grow, festering in the air around them. Even with regulators online and ventilation filters, the overwhelming odor of rot seemed to seep out of the Attis walls. The sour smell of congealed blood wafted through the hall, heavy and metallic, a coppery-iron coating smearing itself across every surface, and for a moment, Fascio’s thoughts fell to the hallway in medical, and how much worse Lanskey, Dom and Wilkes must be having it.

  They reached the corridor that led to administrations and turned right. There was a main reception area with a large desk and two monitors atop it. Across the tan plasticrete walls were multiple Xenocorp posters, all displaying images of thriving planets and happy colony workers, a facade created in a studio setting with paid models, photographers and photo-editing softward. The images contrasted against the dark greys and metal of the darkened facility almost humorously. It was obvious to them immediately where the design efforts had gone into pushing the image of modern comfort, with this being the only section in the facility to have thin carpeted floors. They made their way past, following the sign that led to accounting and officers. By the time the facility would have been finished, it would have become a multi trillion dollar investment, housing thousands of families; a self-sustaining city spanning dozens of miles. And this was the first of hundreds they had already blueprinted out. If things had gone as planned, they would have had atmospheric processors up and running and advanced terraforming in production within the decade. That projection looked like it had just gotten a bit longer in the tooth.

  “It should be the last office at the end,” Talmadge said, Fascio picking up the slight spring that had entered his step. The rep had finally managed to get his way. It was a physical struggle for him to stifle his excitement, the burning necessity to stifle any information leaks ignited like coals beneath him. He needed to contain the situation and make sure any incriminating evidence was locked behind so many doors that by the time anyone managed to get clearance to search, the incident would be a long forgotten hiccup in a long series of successful planet transformations. He pushed back a smile and continued further.

  They continued down the quiet corridor when the lights above flickered for a moment before goin black.

  “What the fuck..,” Hawkes whispered, the soft shuffle of rifles shifting to the ready around him as the emergency lights along the walls came to life.

  The group clicked on their flashlights and kept their weapons at the ready, their pace slower, more cautious as the station continued to taunt them. Shadows glistened against the light, the sheen of condensation casting flickering reflections off the smooth surfaces and Fascio could feel unseen eyes peering into him as he moved quietly forward, his feet squishing against the moist carpet underfoot.

  “Stay sharp,” Mills said, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Let’s not have any surprises.” His eyes scanned the corridor ahead. Then he keyed up his holowrist, which was now synced to the station. “Systems normal. Reads like a power surge.”

  “Man,” Fascio grumbled. “I’d give my left nut for a set of night vision right now.”

  “Yeah,” Mills whispered back. “Well we don’t have any, so suck it up.”

  Fascio and Hawkes shifted nervously, Mills spinning at the back of the group, his rifle raised at the shadows that followed them as he walked backwards for the next few paces.

  The hallway ahead curved slightly and the soldiers slowed as they approached. The darkness around them was heavy, a weight that pressed in on all sides, suffocating blackness deeper than the space they traveled through on their journey there. As they continued on, their eyes began to played tricks, tiny shards of light and shapes in the darkness reaching out with grasping fingers as they passed around the thin beams from
their flashlights.

  Fascio was the first around and as he entered the bend he paused, holding his fist in the air to signal the others to stop. He flashed his light across a shape in the hallway ahead, the dark stain splashed across the wall behind it telling him immediately what it was. He brought his hand down and started forward, the overhead lights flickering for a moment before holding steady again. As he neared the body that was slumped over against the wall something caught his eye. In the dead man’s hand was an antique shotgun, Earth model; early twenty-first century. The dull steel was locked in the man’s grasp, with the carbon stock leaned across his legs. The blood spray shot up the wall to the ceiling where tiny holes dotted the space above. Fascio paused for a second before kneeling down and wrenching the weapon from the man’s grip. He saw a box of cartridges sticking out of the man’s jacket pocket and pulled them out, looking them over for a moment before placing them in his vest pouch. As he rose up he could see a look of disgust across Talmadge’s face.

  “What? Don’t think he’s gonna be needing it any time soon.”

  Talmadge scrunched his lips and squinted at him for a moment, silently disapproving of him touching the corpse.

  “How much farther Talmadge?” Mills asked, pulling the deadlocked gaze that had happened apart.

  “Just up ahead,” he replied, a metallic groan echoing his words deeper in the facility.

  “Well there’s no sense standing around.”

  Fascio pulled his gaze away and moved further down the hall. As he came to another sharp curve the overhead lights flickered back to life, casting their sterile glow back across the walls. He found himself beginning to question if it was simply a glitch in the electrical system, or if there wasn’t something more sinister at work. Again he forced the feeling back down, Sergeant Thomas’ words filling his ears. ‘Keep that superstitious shit to yourself…’ He was right too. It was doing nothing to help his situation, and the feeling of panic was only thinly held behind his resolve.

  They made it another ten feet down the hall when Fascio saw a sign above the last door that read; Director Jeremy Thomas.

  “That’s it,” Talmadge said, stepping towards the door.

  “Whoa,” Mills snapped, slapping his hand against the rep’s chest, stopping his movement. “It don’t work like that.” He stared at the man for a moment before calling to his companion. “Fascio. Pie it.”

  Fascio nodded, turning to the side of the doorway before reaching across and opening the door. He pushed it gently, swinging it open and then swung around with his rifle raised. Inside, the room was empty. The desk at the back of the room was neat and orderly and there was a half empty bottle of American whiskey on top with a glass next to it. Along one wall was a bookshelf, dozens of spines sticking out, ripples of brown and beige with stripes of color between; manuals for everything in the facility.

  “Clear.”

  Back in security Baker and Vuong filtered through video after video. It was the same scene, death and chaos, colonists running, hiding, killing and dying.

  “Can you pinpoint when all this shit started?” Baker asked, pulling his gaze from the monitor.

  “Pretty sure,” Vuong replied. “It’s just gonna take a little while. I have to keep going back until things look normal, and then move forward from there.”

  “Do it,” Baker replied, turning around and stepping into the room outside. He opened a channel on his comm. “Lanskey, you have anything for me?”

  “Nothing new Sarge,” she replied a moment later. “I’ve poured through medical and toxicology reports from the first victims. Everything is coming back normal. There’s no signs of any physiological changes. This has to be something else, but all the other scenarios don’t make any sense. The symptoms are… unique.”

  “All right. Keep looking, and let me know when you find something.”

  “Copy that.”

  Talmadge sat behind the director’s desk in a plush synthetic leather chair, or possibly authentic leather, though that would have been illegal after the ban of animal based furniture. But again, Xenocorp had ways of making things happen for those that held more prominent positions in the company, and nobody was sending authenticators or animal rights reps to mars just to check an administrator’s furniture. He pulled file after file from the computer and began putting it onto a nanodrive he had pulled from his jacket pocket. On the other side of the room Hawkes stood at the doorway, peering down the hallway, watching the shadows that had crept back into the dark spaces. Fascio had pulled one of the manuals from a shelf on the wall and was browsing it, when he slapped it shut and tossed it on the floor. Talmadge looked up from the screen, every sense in him yelling for him to pick the manual up and put it back where it belonged, his desire for order and compulsion for tidiness flaring up. He cringed for a moment, staring at the careless soldier, and then forced his attention back to the screen, making another mental note for later.

  “This is fucked,” Mills said, staring out the window to the dusty surface beyond. “There’s no one left here. Our mission was to find out what happened to comms, and why earth hadn’t heard from these people. I’d say we pretty much completed that mission. They’re fucking dead. There is no comms to repair, and even if we did, what the hell good would it do.” He turned and walked towards the desk, grabbing the bottle from atop it and shooting a glance to the rep that immediately stifled any objection. He poured a tall glass and walked to the window, peering back out across the landscape. “I don’t know why the hell we’re still here.”

  He’d been quiet since they’d arrived, assessing their situation and preparing mentally for what could happen next. But it was beginning to become a heavy burden on him. He knew that in the grand scheme of things, his rank held about the same weight as the white speck on chicken shit, and with Sarge not around, he felt compelled to vent his opinion.

  “Your mission was to accompany myself, a representative of the company that owns this facility, and find out what was going on.”

  Hawkes turned his attention back to the room. The tone in Talmadge’s voice was one he knew was designed to spike a response from Mills. This he inwardly wanted to see. He knew Mills. He was quiet and reserved, but what was hidden behind his zen-like demeanor… He’d been in firefights with him. He knew the anger that bubbled just beneath.

  “I’d say we’re still doing that,” Talmadge continued. “Unless you can explain to the review board back home, a perfectly detailed, scientific explanation of the events that have occurred here.”

  Mills gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching with the desire to turn and imprint the slimy rep’s face into the top of the mahogany desk, another item he knew was on a list of materials no longer legal to possess. But he held his gaze on a cluster of orange rocks a short distance out from the facility, pushing down the urge to snap with another sip of whiskey. Nothing he could say would help with the beurocratic shitstorm Sarge was already going to have to sit through when he got back. He’d seen it before; politicians, or big company reps dragging even a Captain through the mud, leading to a court-martial or being stripped of rank. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a reason it could be any worse. So he bit his tongue, wiped his nose with his hand and took another deep sip of what tasted like it must have been very expensive whiskey. Then he turned around to the sneering gaze of the man at the desk. “I just want to get off this planet as quickly as possible. That’s all I’m saying.” He downed the rest of the glass and set it on the desk with a heavy thud, turning to make his way past Fascio into the hallway.

  “I thought you were gonna put him through the window,” Corlin said as he approached.

  “And make things even more difficult for Sarge. No… That guys a piece of shit, and there’s not a thing that could change that.”

  “I know something that would,” Hawkes said with a grin, reaching out to tap the newly acquired shotgun slung across Fascio’s back.

  “Shiiiiit. Tempting. Reeeal tempting.”

  “T
hat’s everything,” Talmadge said, stepping out from around the desk.

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Mills said, glancing to Hawkes who nodded. “We’ll head back to security and regroup there.”

  Talmadge walked past him as he spoke, his gaze locked to where the hallway curved further down. Fascio shook his head and started to follow when Corlin tapped him on the arm and whispered, “Hold up.” He turned and walked quickly back into the room, grabbing the bottle from the desk and jogging back to the others. “Wouldn’t wanna leave this. Perfectly good bottle.” Fascio smiled, tapping him in the chest and turning to follow the rep back towards security.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything else out right now Sarge,” Vuong said, pulling his eyes form the vidscreen. “There’s hundreds of logs. It’s gonna take me at least another two hours at this pace.” He paused to rub his eyes. They were bloodshot and dry from staring at the monitor and he could feel the distant pulse of a headache beginning just behind them.

  “Roger that.” Baker clicked open comm. “All right marines. Let’s pack it in for the night. We’ll start fresh in the morning. Regroup at housing in twenty. Portofino, you stay with the bird and make sure nothing happens to her. She’s our only ride off this rock.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Great,” Fascio scoffed as they entered the hallway leading to security and housing. “Just where I wanted to spend the night.”

  “Come on Fas,” Corlin smiled. “This is a five star resort. Our own personal pleasure hotel on mars.”

  Hawkes took a deep breath and shook his head. Fascio stayed quiet, the striped shirt in the bathtub and smiling face of the boy on the screen flashing past his eyes.

  12

  Fascio set his tray down on the table across from Vuong and sat down. “Miss me?” Vuong smiled.