Dead Space: Catalyst

by Evenson, Brian

  OUTER DOOR MUST FIRST BE CLOSED, said a flashing message.

  His mother’s face seemed to be eaten away, beginning to collapse in on itself. He tried again, pressing another button.

  The message flashed again. OUTER DOOR MUST FIRST BE CLOSED.

  “You can’t do that,” Henry said. “It’d let all the oxygen out.”

  Henry’s voice sounded better than his—maybe he had had more oxygen. “Henry,” said Jensi, “will you—”

  And then he felt consciousness bleeding away and he collapsed.

  * * *

  A rush of wind, a strange brittle quality to the world around him, as if it could be swept away at any instant. He was standing in the middle of a dark plain, beneath a sky streaked with the reddening rays of the setting sun. There was the sensation of something rummaging around in his head, a kind of blunt and unnamed animal snuffling its way from place to place, sending out little bursts of pain all through his brain. And then there sprang up before him a dead face that at first was unfamiliar but quickly he recognized as the politician his brother had killed and shot. Fischer. The man’s head was half destroyed, blood and brain leaking from it to stain his shoulder. One of his eyes was gone, but the other eye stared at him.

  “You’re like him,” the politician said. When he spoke, bubbles of blood formed on his lips.

  “Like who?” Jensi said.

  “What you have inside is not exactly like him, but it is more like him than the others. What he has inside is right and can be understood. Everybody else is wrong. You are neither right nor wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jensi.

  “You must come to us. Come to us and we shall make you right.” And then the scene behind him began to shiver and dissolved into a torrent of blood.

  * * *

  He awoke from the dream, if it had been a dream, to find himself lying on a metal floor, staring up at the ceiling. Henry was standing over him, still holding one arm, and his helmet had been retracted. His head ached, but he was happy to realize that he no longer felt like he was suffocating.

  “You’re alive,” said Henry.

  Jensi nodded, sat slowly up. They were, he saw, in the airlock, both its inner door and outer door sealed.

  “You managed to get it shut,” said Jensi.

  Henry smiled. “Just a question of finding the right button,” he said. He nodded toward the inner door. “That door, though, is a more difficult proposition. We need a pass code.”

  “So, we’re stuck.”

  “Looks like it,” said Henry. “We can’t go out because we don’t have enough oxygen, and we can’t go in because we don’t have the pass code.”

  Jensi stumbled up. He went and took a look at the inner door, tried to override it but without success. He examined the door for any emergency releases or other mechanisms but found none.

  “So what do we do?” asked Henry.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. He took the laser saw out of his pocket but one brief attempt was enough to convince him it wouldn’t be able to cut the door open, not before it ran out of power. He put it away.

  He removed the gun from his pocket, then grasping it by the barrel began to hammer its butt against the door, a slow regular sequence.

  “Maybe they’ll hear it,” said Jensi over his shoulder for Henry’s benefit. “Maybe they’ll come get us out.”

  Henry didn’t say anything. Yes, Jensi thought, not likely, I know. But what else is there to do? He kept pounding, hoping against hope that someone would hear.

  49

  “They don’t die easily,” Anna explained. “You can shoot them and they just keep coming.”

  Callie Dexter hefted the weapon she’d been handed. A kind of plasma rifle, with the barrel modified. When fired, it would, so Anna claimed, send out a stream of energy, but send it in a cutting line rather than focused to a point. “Good for taking off a limb,” she said. “Don’t bother with the heads; it’s the limbs that matter. Once those are gone, they can’t move.”

  “I’ve never fired a gun before,” said Callie.

  “Neither had I until a few days ago,” said Anna. Her face was drawn and tired. “Don’t worry, you get used to it quickly.”

  They started into the hall, Callie turning in the direction of the control room.

  “No, you can’t go that way,” said Anna, grabbing her arm. “We have to take the long way around. There are several of those things between us and the Marker, and Briden has set up a few guards as well, loyal fanatics who are likely to kill you on sight. We’ll have to take the long way around.”

  So instead they went the other way, away from the control room.

  “What does Briden think he’s doing?” asked Callie.

  “He thinks he’s bringing about the next stage of existence,” said Anna. “He’s convinced himself that he’s a prophet, and that Istvan is as well, that together they know the will of the Marker.”

  “Crazy,” said Callie.

  Anna nodded. “He thinks those things are servants in the service of Unitology. But they’re mindless. That’s not what Unitology is about. And there’s something strange about them in relation to the Marker. They won’t come near it.”

  “No?”

  “It’s safe there,” said Anna. “That’s where he and Istvan stay, dictating to everybody and anybody who will listen the will of the Marker. There’s almost nobody left now—most of us have become those … things. He’s lost his way, but he’s got a loyal following of the dead. He’s a madman.”

  Halfway down the corridor, the hallway began to change. The tendril and rotlike substance that had long been found here and there in the halls had started to build up thickly on the floors, a kind of slick organic substance that bunched like a brain. As the hallway continued, it built up on the walls as well. Anna stopped, opened an access panel leading into the ventilation system. “We’ll go through here,” she said.

  “Why don’t we just continue down the hall?” Callie Dexter asked.

  “Trust me,” she said. “You don’t want to see what’s down there.”

  * * *

  The passage was narrow and constricted, and it seemed to Callie very hard to breathe. They had to go on hands and knees, bodies bent low, with Callie pushing the rifle in front of her. The access panel led up a steep incline to the ventilation system itself, and she followed Anna through the ducts, watching their shadows flicker large, listening to the low hum of the ventilators and feeling the turgidly moving air. From time to time, where the ducts intersected, Anna would pause and take out a scrap of paper and unfold it and examine it before deciding where to go. These moments were the worst for Callie, when she felt both cramped by the duct’s walls and immobile. It was in those moments that, despite the lights they carried, she felt the duct closing in around her.

  At a certain moment, she was certain she heard something behind them. Turning, she saw a brief flash of movement, but then it was gone. “Anna?” she said.

  “What is it?” asked Anna.

  “Who else uses these ducts?”

  “What else, you mean,” said Anna. “You see anything, shoot it, and ask questions later.”

  This did not reassure her, and added to the confined and stifling atmosphere to make her feel highly jumpy.

  They continued on. Where can we possibly be? wondered Callie. Are we turning in circles?

  And then she felt something close around her ankle.

  She cried out and felt herself dragged back the way she had come, rattling and banging through the passage. She nearly lost her gun but just managed to hold on to it. For a moment the dragging stopped and she dragged herself over onto her back to face it, saw the tip of a thick tentacle curled tight around her ankle, the ropy remainder of it stretching far down the passage. It was, she saw, coiling itself up, gathering itself to pull her farther.

  “Shoot it!” she heard Anna yell. “The pustule!”

  The pustule? she w
ondered. And then she saw it, a distended yellow sac farther down the passage, sprouting off the tentacle and partly hidden by the rolls of the curves of tentacle between it and her. Good, she thought, at least now I know what to do. She worked the gun around, banging it against the sides of the duct passage but finally managing. She aimed, but before she could fire, the tentacle jerked tight and she was flipped onto her stomach and dragged painfully farther along.

  It stopped again, the tentacle coiling itself, gathering itself, and she managed to flip over and get the gun aimed. She fired once and seared the wall, then again, and hit the tentacle but not the pustule, and seemed to do no damage. She kept calm. Third time’s the charm, she told herself. When the tentacle swayed, she could see the hole where it had come from, a deep tear in the wall. If it tried to drag her through it, she knew, it was likely to tear her apart.

  She aimed carefully, feeling the tentacle beginning to tense, and fired one last time and this time caught it. The pustule ruptured and exploded, tearing the tentacle in half. There was a roaring sound and the remainder of the tentacle whipped away and back into its hole.

  Callie pried the tentacle’s tip off of her ankle, saw the red gash it had left. She turned and crawled back the way she had come.

  She met Anna after just a dozen or two yards. She was crawling rapidly her way, but stopped as soon as she saw Callie.

  “You’re alive,” she said. “You made it.”

  “Don’t act so surprised,” said Callie. “What the hell was that?”

  “One of them,” said Anna. “They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. As soon as we’ve figured out how to deal with one type, another type appears. Luckily that was one we’d seen before.”

  “I hope to hell I never see one again,” said Callie.

  * * *

  They continued on, crawling through the ducts. At some point Callie had completely lost track of where they were. She began to hear noises that she wasn’t sure were there. Is it a function of the Marker broadcast? she wondered. Or was it paranoia, plain and simple? Part of herself she felt giving in to the darkness and confinement and beginning to imagine the devil in every shadow. But another part of her, the part that was the scientist, simply observed this struggle from a distance, curious to see what would happen.

  Up ahead of her, Anna had suddenly stopped.

  “What is it?” Callie asked.

  “One of Briden’s men,” she said. “Or used to be. I had to kill him on the way to find you. Now he’s blocking the passage. We’ll have to crawl over him.”

  “What?” said Callie.

  “It’s the way we have to go,” said Anna. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s got to be another path,” said Callie, but Anna had already started forward. Callie watched her crawl to the body and then gingerly bring first her hands and then her knees onto the corpse. But with the body in the passageway she couldn’t manage on hands and knees and in the end she had to wriggle through, almost flat. It was uncanny to watch her, the man’s body slowly emerging as she passed over it—his staring eyes, the rigor mortis of his mouth.

  It was a man Callie had known well, by the name of Dixon. First name, John. She had never liked him but, well, at this point, that hardly mattered.

  “Come on,” said Anna from the other side of the corpse. “Come through.”

  She waited a moment, finally sighed and approached. The body had a sour smell to it, but was fresh at least, hadn’t yet started to decompose. She pushed her way slowly onto it, trying not to strike his head with her hips or knee. Very slowly she crawled along it, feeling absurdly obscene. There was barely enough room to get by. She wriggled her way forward, then reached out and grabbed his boots and pulled herself farther and finally clambered off.

  Anna patted her shoulder. “It’s not that bad. You’ll see worse,” she said, as if that were some sort of consolation. And then she continued crawling forward.

  * * *

  There was, after a while, a sound she couldn’t place, some kind of pounding.

  “What’s that?” asked Callie.

  Anna stopped, listened. “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably one of those things.”

  “No,” said Callie, shaking her head. “It’s too regular.”

  Anna shrugged. “Then one of Briden’s crew,” she said.

  They kept on. After a little while, Callie said, “We need to see what it is.”

  “Why should we?” said Anna. “It’s a waste of our time.”

  “I’m curious,” said Callie. “I want to know.”

  For a moment Anna looked angry, and then her face softened into indifference.

  “Fine,” she said. “It’s your funeral.”

  And yours, too, if things go wrong, thought Callie, but she didn’t bother to say so.

  They found an access ramp and left the ventilation ducts. Down below, in the building proper, the noise was louder. The hall they descended into was deserted, and they carefully tracked the noise down it until they came to an airlock.

  “There’s someone in there,” said Callie. “Somebody who wants to get in.”

  “It’s just those things,” said Anna. “Some of them must be trapped. We don’t need any more of them than we already have.”

  Callie crossed her arms. “It’s not them,” she said. “We already determined that. The pounding is too regular, almost like a code.”

  She was reaching out toward the emergency release when she heard Anna say, “I don’t think I’d do that, Dr. Dexter.”

  The tone of her voice was odd. Off somehow. Callie turned, saw that Anna was pointing her weapon at her.

  “What’s wrong, Anna?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level and calm.

  “I don’t know,” said Anna. “You, but, I…” She shook her head. “You’re with them,” she said. “You want to get them out and together you’ll kill me.”

  “Them?” asked Callie.

  “Those creatures,” said Anna. “You’re with them. You’re on their side.”

  Callie shook her head. “I’m not one of them,” she said. “Something’s confusing you, Anna. You’re not being yourself. You came to get me, you need me—there’s no reason to kill me.” She reached out slowly and put her hand on the emergency release. “I’m going to open it,” she said evenly. “Please don’t shoot me.”

  She watched Anna, holding her breath. For a moment there was a struggle within her and then her face contorted and she let the gun barrel dip down. Callie let her breath out, then pulled the emergency release.

  50

  “Oh my God,” said Henry, “it worked.”

  Jensi was just as surprised as he. He pulled back, groping the laser saw out of his belt, and stood waiting for the door to open the rest of the way.

  When it did, it opened on the face of the female scientist who had come to the penal colony a few days before. She looked tired, her face dirty and exhausted, but she seemed very much alive.

  “Hello again,” said Henry.

  “Hello,” said the scientist, and smiled. “Dr. Callie Dexter. Who’s your friend?”

  From behind her Jensi saw another woman, this one holding a gun. “Are you one of Briden’s people?” she shouted. “Which side are you on?”

  “Calm down,” said Henry.

  “Anna, it’s okay,” said the scientist, turning to her. “I know this man,” she said, pointing to Henry. “He was a guard over at the penal colony.”

  “Technician,” said Henry.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the scientist in a low voice. “Just shut up.”

  “What about the other one?” asked Anna.

  “I’m here to find my brother,” said Jensi.

  “Your brother?” said Anna.

  “Yes,” he said. “His name’s Istvan.”

  Callie gave a little cry. Anna simply raised and fired her weapon, scorching the wall just above Jensi’s head.

  “Wait,” said Jensi, hiding behind the airlock door. “Wait, wai
t! What have I done?”

  “Your brother is the reason all this is happening,” claimed Callie.

  “He’s the one who did all of this. He unleashed these demons, but there’s something more. He wants to make new Markers, spread the evil to other worlds,” said Anna.

  Istvan? No, Jensi couldn’t believe it. How could his brother be responsible? “There must be some sort of misunderstanding,” he said. “My brother wouldn’t do anything like that.” But even as he said it, he saw his brother again standing beside Councilman Fischer, pulling the trigger. Istvan was capable of anything.

  “No misunderstanding,” said Callie.

  “If I can only have a chance to talk to him, I can figure out what’s wrong,” Jensi said. “I can stop him.”

  “Why should we trust you?” asked Anna.

  “No, Anna,” said Callie. “We need everybody we can get.” She turned back to Jensi. “If you can stop him, fine,” she said. “If not, then I’ll kill him myself.”

  * * *

  It took a few more minutes to calm Anna down, but in the end she grudgingly let them come along. Anna led the way, the others following. She took them down a hall, then doubled back and shuttled them into a laboratory while a patrol of Briden’s men passed. They came into a corridor and saw a creature stumbling the other way. They simply remained quiet until it was gone and they could move on.

  They were getting close to the control room, Callie thought, when, in a corridor covered with some of the strange organic growth Callie had seen earlier, she heard a click and Anna suddenly froze.

  “What is it?” asked Callie.

  “Everybody get back,” said Anna.

  Callie inquired again but Anna refused to say anything until the others had retreated to the end of the corridor. “I’ve stepped on a pressure mine,” her voice quavering. “Something Briden’s left for us. In a moment I’m going to leap off of it and hope it will just maim me rather than killing me.”

  “No,” said Callie. “Don’t. Maybe we can figure out something else to put on it. Maybe it still isn’t too—”

  But Anna had already leapt. When she came down she was missing both of her legs, which had been blown into bits, and was dead as a stone.