Within Stranger Aeons

by Fisher, Michael

  He noticed a thick leather bound book next to the radio officer’s position and picked it up, careful not to disturb the corpse slumped over the controls. The corpse looked bloated and foul beneath its officer’s uniform. There were purple stains oozing through the fabric and Galad thought the body looked damp, but had no inclination to lay a hand on it to find out. He did notice that the officer was still wearing his headset with its built-in microphone. No doubt the man had spent his last minutes frantically transmitting a desperate SOS to any ship within range—admirable. He brushed an accumulation of dust and other detritus from the book and began leafing through it.

  “What do you have there, Galad?” Akoni was tracing a finger along some sort of laminated fire evacuation schematic posted to the wall.

  “Looks like the radio officer’s log. It might have an inventory or at least some details about the ship.”

  “Who cares about that! I’m headed down to the captain’s quarters. His log book will be there, maybe a safe too. Finish up here and then check out the engines.”

  Akoni watched his captain leave and, in spite of his surroundings, breathed a sigh of relief. He opened the log book, careful not to break the dried and cracking pages. The book was filled with the descriptions of the usual radio chatter one would expect of such a large ship, which apparent was called the Gelbe König. Galad had no idea what the German words meant, but it was nice to finally be on a ship with a name, even one filled with the dead.

  It was surprising how deeply serving on a nameless boat had affected him. His captain’s insistence on anonymity in all things, as if that would protect them from a charge of privacy, or the prying eyes of the Europeans should they come up against a naval frigate. A small boat with an African crew would be easy to ‘misplace’ no matter how much black paint Akoni had slathered on the boat’s hull, or how deep he’d planed the wood to remove its name.

  Sighing deeply despite the stench surrounding him, Galad attempted to decipher the radio log. It was tough work, as the rancid air was effecting him, physically. His lungs were burning, not just from the atmosphere on the bridge, but from the near drowning his captain had inflicted upon him only a half hour or so past His eyes were watering from the stress of the situation, combined with the realization of the sheer amount of death, both on this ship as well as the boat upon which they had arrived, took its toll on Galad, making him feel weak. The stress was playing tricks on his senses as he imagined there were strange noises surrounding him. Surely, it was only the movement of this ghost ship that was producing the sound and not the whispering of the dead crew. A trick of acoustics, memory and imagination which made him think he was hearing the sound of Jeyte’s transmission, its chanting cadence tickling his ears while he read, but disappearing when he concentrated on it.

  He shook his head to concentrate on the radio log and clear his thoughts. The language was close enough to English that he could figure out the names of ports, destinations and cargo. Here and there were strange drawing and symbols sketched into the margins of the log which made no sense to him. His eyes seemed to slide off of the scribbles when he looked at them, and he felt a dull throbbing beginning at the base of his skull and radiating outward. The drawings were vile and disgusting caricatures of everyday objects and people in strange ritualistic poses. Galad tried to ignore them but they increased in number and intensity the further he progressed into the log. What at first looked like the rough sketches and doodles you might expect in the margins of a child’s book, became the product of a fervor dream of depravity and horror when he looked closer at them. Creatures unlike any image he had ever envisioned desecrated the book intensifying and propagating with each page Galad turned. Creatures descended from the envenomed, passionate sermons of the evangelical priests that occasionally threw up a tent in his village, screaming fire, brimstone, and damnation to their pressganged congregations. Images that would forever haunt him!

  The end of the log was an abomination of tortured bodies, their eviscerated organs spread before unearthly and horrific beings. Occasionally, the Gelbe König itself would be pictured lending scale to an otherwise abstract creature. It was massive, easily dwarfing the ship, just as the Gelbe König dwarfed Akoni and Galad’s miserable excuse for a pirate vessel. Galad tried to ignore the images and the unearthly script which suffused them, but it was hard to read and decipher the German officer’s log with it desecrated this way. Clearly the man had gone mad during whatever calamity had befallen the ship and its crew. Galad couldn’t imagine what had pushed the man over the edge like this or what level of hunger and exposure had produced such horrific hallucinations, perhaps the log held that secret. He bent to his task of deciphering the log book.

  Here and there Galad picked out the odd English word and pieced together that the Gelbe König was on route to a Saudi port with a hold filled with BMWs. Second hand BMWs but worth a pretty penny on the open market, which would please Akoni. What was more interesting was the last log entry, which was very hard to discern beneath the vile images scrawled over it, but the date of the entry was clear. April 18, 1998!

  The ship had been adrift for nearly twenty years! How had it remained afloat, let alone undiscovered amid such a busy shipping lane. Galad was amazed that it hadn’t been found or run aground, the odds of it not being shattered against a reef or dragged to the bottom of the ocean by a winter storm were astronomical. The stars had conspired to isolate this crew from the rest of the world for two decades, adrift, starving and descending into madness. Galad looked about him and was amazed that none of the corpses were suicides even though the ship probably had a small arms locker or enough drugs on board for the crew to take the easy way out. No, they had stayed at their posts and served until madness and starvation had taken them.

  Galad looked at the radio officer’s corpse with new respect and a touch of horror. The man was still plugged into his set waiting for a response to his SOS that would never come. Amazing. As he paid silent respect to the officer, Galad could hear a faint sound coming from the radio set, some sort of echoing transmission that the equipment was still receiving. An unsettling familiar sound that cut deep into Galad’s soul and chilled him to the bone. He reached out a quavering hand to the radio and turned up the gain.

  “Cthulhu R'lyeh, wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

  The chant filled the bridge echoing off the walls even though the set’s volume was quite low.

  “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh,”

  The acoustics of the room amplified and funnelled the sound until the rhythm was pounding in his ears. A song or a proclamation, Galad didn’t know which, only that his mind was reeling beneath its pressure. He reached out unsteadily and shut the set down but he could still hear the sound resonating within his skull. Galad shook his head to clear it, but he could still hear the chant. With horror, he looked over at the dead emaciated corpse of the German radio officer. The body’s lips were moving, the bloated tongue flicking between the rotted flash of its sunken cheeks.

  “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh,” It intoned in a quiet barely heard whisper.

  Galad recoiled from the body, stumbling to the deck as it shuddered into motion, getting jerkily to its feet. The dead man turned its vacant eyes to Galad with evil intent. It reached out a skeletal hand, the flesh oozing and cracking as it tried to grab Galad.

  “Cthulhu wgah’nagl fhtagn,” it growled, lunging forward.

  Acting purely on instinct and driven by shear terror, Galad struck the creature full across the face with the heavy leather log book. The corpse fell backwards against the radio console. The headset ripped free of its head as the cord reach the end of its length. A broad swath of the officer’s scalp and one of its ears were torn free by the headset, revealing the rotted muscle and the yellowed bone of the skull beneath.

  The creature turned slowly back to its attacker leveling its sightless eyes on Galad and advanced again its malicious intent was clear. The putrid smell of its body, now that it was in motion, filled the bridge with a ghastly mia
sma of vile decay. Galad gagged back, stepping towards the exit but the creature was fast—too fast. It latched one hand on Galad’s arm in an iron grip, bearing the two of them to the floor in a heap. Galad struggled to push the creature off him, but it was no use; it was too strong.

  The dead man pushed its face close to Galad’s.

  “R'lyeh, wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

  Galad tried to push the creature off, but it was too strong. Frantically, he struggled to roll away from the beast and its inhuman chanting but to no use. Galad’s fear made him weak and the German’s clawed hand moved from his arm to his throat, throttling with a strength no mortal man could match. Galad was beginning to black out, the second time that day, when his failing body registered a fresh pain digging into his back—his rifle!

  With his vision fading, he struggled to twist his body to bring the AK-47 from its slung position and between himself and his attacker. Just before he blacked out, he got the rifle between them, pointed the right way and yanked the trigger back. The rifle bucked, launching three rounds into the German officer’s torso, throwing the body off of Galad and back towards the radio console.

  Gasping Galad struggled to catch his breath and regain his feet. He stared at the corpse, now sprawled across the console it had once manned so diligently; manned into death and beyond. Galad wiped frantically at his clothes trying to throw off the ruined flesh, gore and viscera which his weapon had blown off his opponent, splattering him. He fought to keep his stomach in check but was thankful that he was alive. He slung his weapon and picked up the leather book, intent on leaving this ship of horrors behind.

  Galad turned to the bridge hatch to leave and stopped in his tracks when he heard a sickly sucking sound behind him.

  “R’Lyeh..,” came a dry whisper from behind him.

  The creature was on its feet and shambling towards him, a trio of holes peppered its chest where the AK-47’s large rounds had carved craters of flesh from its body. Galad was paralysed with fear, his back to the bridge’s only escape route. The German officer took one stuttering step towards Galad, then a second and a third. It almost had its hands around Galad’s throat once again before the man shook off his fear and raised his weapon.

  The AK-47 bucked in his hands as he emptied the entire magazine. Round after round slammed into and through the corpse punching huge holes in the rancid meat of it body. Shards of bone ricocheted off the radio console and the body disintegrated under the onslaught. The remains fell to the deck in a heap of ruptured organs, putrefied flesh and purple ichor. Galad held the trigger in a palsied grip for almost a minute after the weapon had emptied before he regained his senses. Then he fell to the deck, and emptied his abused stomach again and again onto the deck.

  Galad kneeled amid a pool of his own vomit and the remains of the German officer splattered across his face and chest, blown back by the machine gun’s effects. His breathing was ragged and his body shook from the fear and horror.

  “Fhtagn.” The corpse’s ruined skull, near detached from the torso whispered.

  Galad scrambled to his feet slipping in the spreading pool of his vomit, now mixed with the shredded entrails of the creature crawling towards him. He bolted through the hatch and straight into his Captain. Akoni recoiled from the impact slamming his back against the rail circling the exterior of the bridge. He almost catapulted over the side and into the ocean below.

  “Watch it you fool!”

  “Captain! We have to get out of here.”

  Akoni stared in at Galad, taking in his wild look and his gore-soaked hair and clothing. His hand moved to the butt of the pistol stuck in his waistband.

  “What have you done? Is that blood?”

  “It’s not mine. The crew, they aren’t dead.”

  “What are you talking about you fool?”

  Akoni stepped away from the rail and grabbed Galad by the shirt, and shook him—hard. Akoni raised a fist and shook it in his captive’s face.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done, but you better not sour my score. I have invested too much time and money for you to ruin it now.”

  “Our boat is barely afloat, most of our crew are dead and some plague or something has cursed this ship. We need to get off this ship. For the sake of our souls!”

  Akoni’s fist pulled back and then shot forward, catching Galad across the bridge of his nose, breaking it. Once, twice, and a third time, Akoni’s meaty fist pistoned into his first mate’s face battering the man nearly senseless. Galad slumped in his grip, but the man held him upright with his off hand and delivered three more punches before dropping him to the deck. He stood above him looking at his fist and the blood covering it, both Galad’s and unknown to Akoni, the creature pulped but still animate within the Gelbe König’s bridge.

  “I have no idea what you think you’ve found, but this ship is packed full of German automobiles. I’m not going to let that go.” He leaned down and pulled Galad upright. “Now you will…get up…get the engines working…and we WILL salvage this ship.”

  Galad looked at his captain, his vision blurred and indistinct. Akoni’s face was twisted with rage and Galad had no doubt the man had lost it. He struggled to his feet standing unsteadily before his captain. He tried one last time.

  “Captain. Akoni…You need to listen to what I’m saying.”

  Akoni pulled his pistol out of his belt and slowly and deliberately placed it against his crewman’s temple.

  “I don’t need to do anything,” He whispered, “You need to get the engines working… Now.”

  The man’s tone was cold, emotionless, at the end of his patience. Galad knew he would put a bullet through his skull if pushed any further. Compared to the horror within the Gelbe König’s bridge, Galad was more than willing to take the bullet. The ship was cursed. A terrible, horrifying curse that that was reaching out to engulf Akoni, Galad and the rest of the surviving crew of their nameless pirate boat. He would sooner die.

  Galad thrust out at Akoni, surprising his captain and propelling him away from him. Akoni hurtled back hitting the hatch to the bridge hard. He came back furious, a murderous rage in his eyes, the pistol aimed at Galad, his finger squeezing the trigger. The shot went wide as Galad rolled backwards, down beneath the deck railing and tumbled the twenty feet to the ocean below.

  He hit the ocean like a hammer, plunging deep into its icy clutches. For a few seconds, he let the water embrace him, washing away the gore covering his body, cleansing and scouring his flesh as the water also cleansed his soul. Relived to be off the Gelbe König and away from the murderous rage of his captain, he let himself slowly drift back to the surface. Then he felt a sharp pressure pull across his chest and a strong downward pull. The AK-47 slung to his back was pulling him deeper into the ocean, to a watery grave. He twisted and contorted to relieve himself of the weapon and kicked for the surface.

  He broke the surface only a few feet from the bow of Akoni’s pirate boat. Galad was amazed that he hadn’t splattered himself on the deck or battered himself senseless against the German freighter’s hull on the way down. He searched the Gelbe König’s deck for Akoni, spotting him on the foredeck aiming his pistol down along the hull towards Galad. Both men knew that at this distance at this angle there was little chance of the Captain actually hitting Galad. Akoni smiled and drew a finger along his throat before turning around and heading toward the freighter’ bridge.

  “Galad!”

  It was Jeyte. The men was leaning out over the boats deck, extending a hand to Galad to pull him out of the water. Had he seen the altercation?

  “What’ happening? Who’s shooting?”

  Jeyte’s wiry but strong arms wrapped around Galad and hauled him onto the boat. Galad lay there unable to summon the strength to move.

  “Where’s the Captain? Is the ship’s crew attacking?”

  It was as accurate a description as Galad was about to give Jeyte—perhaps ever.

  “Get the boat moving. Quickly.” Galad whispered unable to
summon the strength to shout let alone get to his feet.

  Jeyte stared at Galad for a moment, the unspoken question between the two—what about the Captain? Galad’s battered face and fear stricken eyes were answer enough. Jeyte simply nodded and hustled into the boats bridge. A moment later the engine roared to life, sputtering and throwing huge clouds of smoke into the air. The boat slowly pulled away from the Gelbe König, the engines stuttering sickly but maintaining a relatively constant speed.

  Galad lay on the deck watching the Gelbe König slowly recede towards the horizon. He searched the deck for Captain Akoni but couldn’t catch sight of him. Eventually he must have dozed off, when he reopened his eyes the freighter was gone and the boat was pushing through the ocean smoothly and the horror behind them seemed like nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

  He got to his feet and stumbled into the bridge, Jeyte was handling well, keeping the boat on an even course. Galad took a seat beside him and stared out at the open sea. Jeyte watched him intently, but neither man seemed willing to break the silence. There was a sound, low and barely discernable coming from the discarded radio headset. Galad recognized the sound, faint as it was, immediately. It was Akoni’s voice.

  “Cthulhu R'lyeh,” Whispered the radio, “wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

  Andrew J Lucas has contributed to books published by Fasa, Dream Pod Nine, White Wolf Games and Atlas Games among others. He has nine solo books for various publishers and while his creative output is often blunted by his day job and the enthusiasm of his young daughter in distracting him, he does manage to get produce a few prime works each year. He is also the owner of Charon Productions, a wargame accessories company best known for the Origins Award nominated Skirmishpack. Last year he wrote a couple of books for Rebel Minis Mighty Armies wargame, an article for Battlefront’s Flames of War, contributed to the new Kensei wargame, even had 2 fanfilm episodes of Star Trek: The Romulan Wars produced. Presently he is line producing for Rebel Minis and writing fiction for magazines such as Nebula Rift.