Heinrich nodded patiently, with as good a humor he could muster. He liked the excitable little Swede even if he couldn’t share the Thaumaturgic Technician’s fascination with the arcane- and for that matter with almost anything at all. He’d once seen Adolphus spend hours transfixed by the vibrations of a piece of metal stuck in the dirt. “What do you think of the rest of the team?”
“No clear untermenschen other than the slav, although the Amerikaner could be any mix of races. I have a theory-”
“I meant their competency.” The German amended. You had to be specific with Adolphus -the man took National Socialism even further than did he himself. “The slav looks strong at least, whatever his other qualities may be.”
“Perhaps.” The Tech shrugged. “People are your specialty, mine is, well…” They both knew what his specialty was. “As long as I have plenty of gastplasm and a chance to poke around I’ll be happy.”
“Of course.” Heinrich yawned and covered his mouth with his hand. “Time to get some sleep, don’t you think? We’ll want to be at our best tomorrow for the mission.”
“Ah, yes.” Adolphus said, sounding like he had forgotten that such things as sleep were necessary. It was within the realm of possibility that he had forgotten, albeit briefly. “Gutten nicht my friend.”
“Gutten nicht.” The Medic chuckled to himself over the other man’s antics as he left- what would he do without him? Adolphus’ talk of daemons served as a reminder, he’d need to check with the facility’s pharmacy and make sure he had plenty of Neobalax with him when they went into the ship- daemonic possession was a nasty thing to treat but he’d run into it enough times before to be familiar with the procedure. Not to mention Tesseradine, it was unlikely they’d run into anything that would require it but better safe than sorry. He already had plenty of Mentiflex if it became necessary to give the Technician a dose…
Thoughts swirled through Heinrich’s mind as he closed the door to the small accommodation that the PCRA had provided him. He was more than a little bit tired, but force of habit carried him through the end of day rituals that every child of the Reich became accustomed to. It was with a careful delicacy born from long practice that he brushed his teeth, mindful of the prussic acid capsule contained beneath a false molar in his lower jaw. Having a suicide fall-back wasn’t required of all PCRA agents, but if you asked for one then the agency was always happy to oblige. The last things that crossed his mind as the German drifted off to sleep concerned his friend Adolphus, he very much hoped that he wouldn’t have to kill him.
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Grey knew better than to let his gut make emotional judgments about inanimate objects, but despite himself he felt the ship looked intimidating. It appeared much larger in person than in had in the satellite photograph, both long and towering it seemed to be brooding there in the dirt where it had never been meant to be. An enormous shadow stretched from the superstructure almost to where the team stood in silence, as if the vessel itself were reaching out- a plea for help or a menacing claw he could not say…
“An ugly bitch, da?” Sergei Ivanovich said irreverently and the spell broke. It was the typical bravado of an alpha male reacting to fear, but it put heart into the rest of them including- the Team Leader was chagrined to realize- himself.
“I can’t fault your eye.” Grey smiled. “Everyone ready?” A pointless formality, these were professionals, they were always ready, but it needed to be asked.
“Hai.” Hirasawa’s eyes never ceased scanning the Colorado’s great bulk.
“Da.” Ivanovich coaxed an impressive sounding metallic noise out of his M-5.
“Yes.” Arra Brøndsted slipped one hand into her pack- checking, he assumed, on her whale.
“Jahwol.” Heinrich Fritzch nodded calmly without any great enthusiasm.
“Sorry, what were we agreeing about?” The Technician asked distractedly and it took all of the Team Leader’s efforts not to laugh, doubly so when the other man added; “Is everyone else ready yet?”
“We were waiting on you, but there’s no reason to delay.” Grey started forward. “To the ladder!”
An external examination had already been performed and the researchers had taken the time to erect a ladder that reached to the Colorado’s deck, not trusting the seventy year old pr-existing rungs to bear the weight of men and equipment. Surprisingly there were no signs of rust or even basic wear other than the total lack of paint on the outside of the gargantuan vessel. No oxygen for oxidization, maybe? That could be good news if it meant that the crew had died quickly, but the ex-OSS agent thought otherwise. The U.S.S Eldridge had reported no trouble breathing during her brief shift outside of normal reality, it was unlikely that the conditions had been so different here.
“We’ll start with the bridge.” Grey decided as he threaded his legs over the rail. “Containment was able to take pictures of the inside through the windows there, they reported skeletons but nothing alive. A good place to start.”
The Japanese Anti-Preternatural Specialist made a small sound as he climbed up after him. “The most dangerous threats aren’t always visible, I would recommend I go in first.”
“Agreed.” The Team Leader offered his hand to Arra but the woman ignored it, straightening to shade her eyes against a sun that had only just finished freeing itself from the confinement of the horizon. “Sergei goes second.”
“Anything still moving in there will die.” The Russian boasted. “This is my sort of fight, no civilians to get in the way, no worries about hitting the wrong person, just shoot it until it quits and then light it on fire.”
Well, it was hardly an attitude you could disapprove of.
They waited until the last two team members had finished climbing up and then set off across the ship’s deck for the bridge. Set high in the superstructure it was a fair walk, particularly for half-a-dozen people still getting used to their HE suits, but no one considered complaining. They might be eclectic but they were the best of the best that the PCRA had to offer and silent boredom was vastly preferable to the alternative. There were two main doors that opened onto the bridge from the outside, but Hirasawa chose to go in through one of the windows- smashing through the thickly paned glass with the butt of his rifle then knocking out any remaining shards. Sergei followed him in closely, M-5 continuously up and trained forward in the direction of where any possible targets could emerge.
“All clear!” It was the Russian who opened one of the doors and called out.
At the report Grey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Time to do or die.
He went inside.
Lieutenant (jg) Christopher Baker
Chapter 5
Sergei moved cautiously, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows that lurked everywhere the light streaming in couldn’t reach. Dust was thick in the air and on everything else including several stations that formed a semi-circle facing the windows which ringed the room. One was badly smashed and another looked like it had been shot up- something with a large caliber. He had to watch his step or risk kicking the scattered empty tin cans and mess tins that littered the floor along with stiff rags and the elements of what might have been uniforms. This place looked lived in, perhaps for a very long time.
And its occupants had never left.
In one corner scorch marks surrounded the blackened bones of two men tossed between the navigator’s station and the wall and then lit on fire. Nothing stirred there so he ignored them. A second pair of skeletons had been laid out on the floor, clearly intentionally moved, both in faded rags that by their dusty rank insignia had once been the uniforms of bridge officers. One had been shot in the head and abdomen repeatedly, the bullet holes told as much, the other showed three irregular holes in the back of his head- execution style then.
It was a style that the Combat Specialist was more than passingly familiar with.
“Here.” The Japanese reactionary said softly, and Sergei turned to see what he was looking at.
“Bozhemoi.” He swore and had to resist the urge to open fire. There was a fifth skeleton, chained to ship’s wheel with unbroken steel links. It was a grotesquerie possessing multiple limbs and a deformed skull that gaped three misshapen mouths. Perhaps it had been human once, but Sergei would not swear to it. Fortunately thick dust lay heavy on the white bones, the thing was long dead. A momentary look passed between the two armed men and the Anti-Preternatural Specialist nodded, his meaning unmistakable.
“All clear!” The Russian pushed open one of the doors and called out. Before long the rest of the team had joined them, examining the room with caution equal to his. Sergei would never admit it, but these sorts of places frightened him. He was a soldier of the Revolution, accustomed to fighting against the enemies of the rodina in battle, not crawling through tight spaces to hunt down things not of this world, and all the talk of alternate dimensions made him more than uneasy. But he was a patriot and a good communist (for all that he could not yet bring himself to abandon the Church entirely) and when the KGB announced that they were recruiting him and sending him to join the PCRA he had not objected.
“Looks like there was a latrine over here.” That was the German fascist, that he had to trust his life to such a man as his doctor rankled much more than having to fight alongside a fascist in battle, but he tolerated it as he did so much else.
The medic moved to examine the twisted skeleton bound to the wheel, not willing to touch it even from within the protective confines of his suit. “I’ve only read about cases of monsterism this severe.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Definitely human though.”
“We’ve got a locked door.” Grey called out and attention immediately refocused on him and the door to what could be a small ready room attached to the bridge. Sergei noted a second larger steel door next to it- that would be for the stairwell and their route deeper into the ship.
“Think you can open it?” The question was directed at the woman. She was a pretty one, not that he was looking, he had Kamilla waiting for him back in Moscow.
“I can try.” The commando bent down and examined the lock then shook her head. “It’s corroded, there’s no chance I could pick this.” She glanced back at Sergei then down to his assault rifle. “You want to give it a shot?”
The Combat Specialist stepped forward, lined the muzzle of his M-5 up with the doorknob, then fired. The burst sounded unnaturally loud in the enclosed space and the knob blew apart completely under the force of his bullets. No shrapnel thank god, the door was mostly wood and the metal components just flew back into the room behind it. Speaking of the room behind it…
Arra was the first one in, a breach of protocol, but she had her pistol out and slipped silently inside before he could voice an objection. Sergei followed closely after, scanning for threats. It was a small room, Spartan, the only furniture a metal desk with a chair, a small cot, and an ancient toilet with no partition. At the desk slumped the mummified corpse of a man, flesh drawn parchment thin over his bones. In one hand the corpse held a Colt revolver, there was a blackened hole in the side of its skull.
You didn’t need a degree from Moscow State University to know what had happened here.
“He was a lieutenant.” The commando gently examined the body, jerking her head towards its rank insignia. “And what’s this?”
“This” proved to be a yellowed piece of lined paper covered in faded handwriting. Arra carried it outside to read it while the ever curious Technician explored the room.
“That might not be safe.” Grey hurried over to them.
“It’s English, not a rune in sight.” The woman shone her flashlight on the page. “I don’t know if anyone will ever find this,” she began “but if they do then let it be recorded that the men of the Colorado died with distinction and gave their lives for their country. We cannot turn off the machine and go back to the world we came from, the captain left some time ago to try and he never returned. This place is destroying us, the ship as surely as the men. They aren’t men anymore but I have resolved to end it before that fate becomes mine. Already I can feel my thoughts blurring and my organs writhing, the first step to becoming like the others. We’d hoped that sealing off the bridge would help but it didn’t and I doubt that I’ll be able to hide in here forever. I intend to die a man and a Christian. May god have mercy on us all.” Arra let her voice trail off and looked up from the suicide note. “It’s signed Lieutenant (jg) Christopher Baker.”
“We have a job to do.” Sergei said roughly to obscure his sudden burst of emotion. “I’ll lead the way down to the next level.” The Japanese reactionary stirred but said nothing and Heinrich went to go find the Technician.
He noticed, as he opened the door to the stairwell (locked from the inside), that the Greenlandic woman had folded Baker’s note into a tiny paper star which she carefully set down on the floor before straightening to follow them deeper into the ship.
The Mess Hall
Chapter 6
Hirasawa knew something was wrong the moment the door opened. On the other side should be a staircase descending down. Instead it opened up into a room of indeterminate size, the floor grimy and caked with dried detritus. The Russian led the way in and he followed, directing his flashlight to illuminate the largest area possible. Sound hit his ears and the Anti-Preternatural Specialist tensed before he identified it, the rush of mad whispers rising in pitch in response to their presence. Small lights appeared and disappeared in the thick darkness, swirling hypnotically as they danced. Occasionally one would manifest more clearly- a hand, a sleeve, the barest hint of a face- before dissolving again.
Ghosts.
Their beams of light crisscrossed long tables scattered with bones and the smeared chunks of either food or dried flesh, in some cases definitely both. Cobwebs or something very like cobwebs swathed the furniture, occasionally reducing objects to no more than lumps and irregular shapes. When the stuff rippled from time to time Hirasawa knew it was no breeze but the movement of the ghosts, angry, frightened, insane ghosts if their whispers were anything to go by. He knew better than to listen too closely though.
“I believe we’ve found the mess hall.” The Japanese specialist examined some of the bones on one table, noting as he did the unmistakable marks of teeth. Not surprising for men afflicted by monsterism, slowly going mad and without any way to acquire more food. If they had all ended as meals for each other then it would make his job a much easier one indeed.
“Oh, excellent!” The Technician’s voice sounded incongruously loud and cheerful as he came up behind, digging in his pack. “Power!”
“I suppose this is what is meant by spatial distortion.” Grey found a chair and used it to prop the door open. “If the interior isn’t fixed then the last thing we want to do is to start closing doors.”
It was a sensible tactic and Hirasawa approved. The one thing that anyone operating inside the Kyoto Containment Zone never forgot was to always make sure you had a clear way out if the situation became untenable. No soldier of the Emperor ever fled from battle, but it was understood by all at the KCZ that strategic withdrawals for the sake of maintaining the protective cordon were exceptions to that rule. He advanced slightly, listing to faint screams as Schjerfbeck trapped one of the ghosts and began the process of converting it into human-grade gastplasm.
“I’ve got something.” The Russian called out and immediately the Anti-Preternatural Specialist swiveled to see what he was looking at- plasma rifle ready to fire.
It was a… conglomeration was the best word, a conglomeration of utensils, clothing, cobwebs, and desiccated body parts that sat squalidly in what appeared to be the exact center of the room. Over it a large organic mass of unidentifiable material hung suspended from the ceiling in a manner faintly reminiscent of wasp nests, if
wasp nests were three times the size of a fully grown man.
“Shit.” Grey swore as he came over to join them, unprofessional in Hirasawa’s opinion. “This could be anything.”
Abyssus Abyssum Invocat Page 2
