Jane slowly raised a placating hand. “Okay, okay, Commander. You’re in control. Let’s go, Alan.”
She moved cautiously toward Alan and turned him bodily, forcing him through the doorway, just as Gibbs had done with Compton.
Walsh gestured with the gun at Alan and Jane, then ordered, “You two take point.”
Varma and Gibbs looked uncomfortable, but weren’t saying anything. Alan shone his flashlight down the hall in the direction of the capsule and started moving. Jane stayed at his side. She didn’t have a flashlight or her pack. She must have left them outside the light treatment chamber.
There was some murmuring behind them, then Varma came up behind Jane and handed her an air canister with its harness and an oxygen monitor. Jane slipped the harness over her shoulders and glanced at the monitor as she fixed it to her flight suit. The levels were normal.
Inside her head, Ei’Brai was perturbed, exasperated, but this had little to do with Walsh or the strange pod they’d just seen. Jane struggled to keep her own thoughts moored as Ei’Brai flooded her mind with information. He said that there had been some damage to the neural-electric pathways on this deck, the conduits that carried his commands all over the ship. The floor lights were not responding. He informed her that he was working diligently get lights back on for her. He reassured her that air quality sensors and controls were fully operational, but regretted to tell her that he was barely keeping gravity under control. There was a 57% chance of losing gravity in the immediate future. She considered sharing this information, but Walsh’s current mood was not receptive, so she stayed silent.
As they walked, they saw more pupae in various sizes clinging to the walls and ceiling, sometimes singly, sometimes in clusters, oozing thick, stringy slime. After seeing what that slime had done to Varma’s pen, Jane stayed alert to avoid walking into any of it.
Ei’Brai was desperately searching the ship’s data banks for scraps of information about this species. Apparently, it was virtually unheard of for the creatures to ever reach this life stage. In fact, to allow it to happen was prohibited by law. There were many, many safety protocols in place to prevent such an occurrence. Unfortunately there’d been no one on board to carry out those protocols for decades.
The slugs were regarded as troublesome enough. Capable of spawning in the larval stage, they reached maturity swiftly under optimal environmental conditions. Both the larvae and their eggs were also capable of near-indefinite dormancy, making them a prolific and tenacious foe. Every shipyard and dock was infested despite constant vigilance. They developed resistance to every chemical agent used against them, thwarted every method intended to retard their growth. Constant vigilance and mechanical removal were the most effective means of control. They were essentially monster cockroaches in space.
Varma mused, “So many, so quickly. We’ve only been gone for a few hours. How can this be?”
Jane walked steadily on, experiencing two disparate states of mind simultaneously. On one level, she was alert to her surroundings—tense, charged with adrenaline. Yet, on another level, she was carefully monitoring Ei’Brai’s intake of information, noting each important detail he uncovered, knowing it could be critical to their survival. This mind-sharing—it allowed her to think in new ways she couldn’t have conceived of before. It gave new meaning to the concept of multitasking.
She came to an abrupt halt, heedless of the others, as her attention came to a razor-sharp point.
Ei’Brai had just uncovered something of monumental importance—and in his surprise and dismay, he had revealed information that he had not intended to. Then she felt his growing horror as he realized she’d witnessed this.
These slug creatures had originated on Sectilia’s moon, Atielle. After the two cultures had integrated, some of the creatures had been inadvertently transferred to the planet. The population had exploded—like rabbits in the Australian Outback. Without a natural predator, they had multiplied out of control.
A highly adaptable species, they had filled many new niches and had actually mated with terrestrial planetary fauna of closely similar development. The Cunabula had chosen to seed the Sectilia-Atielle pair with the same gene-seed variant; that the Sectilius had emerged on two worlds as two variations on the same race was only one of many curious confluences. The crosses had been fertile, and the genetics of the transplants on Sectilius had become quite different from the original moon-based creature.
Atielle, as one of several moons orbiting such a large planet, was extremely geologically active. The annual cycles of tectonic and tidal activity influenced by Sectilia’s gravitational fields periodically resulted in a localized volcanic emission of xenon. The gas, normally present in Atielle’s atmosphere in low percentages, would briefly become quite concentrated. When the newly hybridized slug variant had been reintroduced to its native habitat, new characteristics had been unmasked. The high concentrations of xenon gas triggered a transformation.
The formerly benign species became a dangerous predator—the nepatrox.
All of this was new information to Ei’Brai. The slug population had not been his concern in his duties as Gubernaviti . He had not bothered himself with trivialities that had not affected him. Perhaps this had been common knowledge among the Sectilius who had inhabited the ship—so common that to discuss the phenomenon had been unnecessary.
It had been the leak on the Speroancora… the xenon… that had set this new crisis in motion. The despicable part was that the leak hadn’t been entirely accidental.
There had been a xenon leak, but it had been minor. Ei’Brai had augmented it, purposefully, for effect—seizing on the opportunity to create an emergency, a scenario that would push her to be dependent on his help, so that he could demonstrate his power and ultimately gain her trust.
He’d tried to hide that from her. The lapse in his control of the information she received from him had been only momentary. But she’d seen it. And it changed everything.
A painful, tingly sensation rioted from her core outwards. Her face felt hot. Her ears burned. Why did he think he needed to force anything by manufacturing a situation? Why couldn’t he just have given her the time she needed to adjust to communicating with him?
He’d wanted her to learn to trust him. But he hadn’t trusted or respected her at all, had he? He could have killed Alan, or Walsh, or both of them with that gas. She could never have forgiven that. And what he’d started wasn’t over yet. There were still plenty of opportunities to die from the reckless choice Ei’Brai had made. Jane stood there, stunned.
Walsh had been right all along.
Ei’Brai was inundating her thoughts with apologies, contrition. He begged her to see his desperate need, reminded her of the bigger picture—the Sectilius goal, the Cunabula, and the hope humanity could provide to the uncounted centillions of species in the universe. It was a torrent of ingratiation and regret. She wanted none of it.
“Neu! ” she cried aloud.
She came to herself abruptly with the others gathering around her. She closed her eyes and stood stock still, raging silently, Get out of my head, goddamn you!
All at once, he withdrew. She rocked on her heels as she felt him slip away. She was completely alone inside her head, for the first time since they had docked with the ship. The hum had gone silent. Not even a tingle at the back of her mind was left. She felt surprisingly empty. Now, in his absence, she could see that he’d infiltrated her mind so completely that his presence had begun to feel normal.
It was a relief. And it was lonely. That was disconcerting.
Walsh nudged her roughly. “Quit stalling, Holloway. Keep moving.”
Alan pulled her away from Walsh, propelling her forward again. Before he could query her about what had just happened, she whispered, “Do you still have your Beretta?”
He nodded slowly, looking confused and uncomfortable. “In my pack. Jane, I did fine at the shooting range, but I’m no match for Walsh.”
She put a
hand on his arm, squeezing, and darted a look back. “I… no, no. Walsh is right—I think we should go. I’m just worried we aren’t going to make—”
She froze. Something had moved in her peripheral vision.
15
A preternatural feeling of dread washed over Jane. She felt a strong urge to run, but logic told her that was a bad choice. She turned slowly, peering into the shadows around them, simultaneously trying to locate the source of the movement she’d detected and instinctively looking for a place to hide.
They’d covered several hundred feet since they left the deck-to-deck transport, but there were no doors in the immediate vicinity. They’d passed one just a minute or two before, but in the dark, without the connection to Ei’Brai guiding her through the mental maps of the ship, it was difficult to guess how far away that had been or how close another one might be. The corridor was one of the main thoroughfares on this level—maybe fifteen feet wide or more—wide enough that the darkness to either side of them might conceal more than just the walls.
Oh, God, turn on the lights, Ei’Brai, she thought, but he was no longer listening. Banishing Ei’Brai from her thoughts no longer seemed like the most sensible decision.
“Holloway—”
“Shh!” Jane sent Walsh a quelling look.
Something scuttled in the dark nearby.
“What… was that?” Varma whispered, her eyes gone wide.
Jane put her hand over Alan’s, steering the flashlight to the shadows thirty feet ahead and to the left side of the corridor. A creature the size of a house cat stood there watching them. The nepatrox had a maroon, segmented shell like a lobster or scorpion, but its head grew from its trunk more like a fish. It whipped an ominous-looking barbed tail around, as though agitated.
It crouched and opened its mouth, which unfolded deep and wide to a point well behind its eyes, revealing fuchsia and coral-colored flaps on each side as well as several rows of jagged teeth. It hissed defiantly and took a few steps forward.
“Holy fuck, what next?” Alan muttered.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Walsh gritted out.
Varma spoke softly, “It hatched, didn’t it Jane? From the pupae.”
Jane nodded gravely. “Yes.”
Gibbs’s voice sounded mildly disturbed. “That little dude looks POed.”
Varma said, “It looks like an arthropod of some sort. It’s behaving as though it may be territorial. Will it attack if we go further, I wonder?”
“I think it will,” Jane said. “This is what I was trying to warn you about. We should go back. The deck above this one stores Sectilius battle armor. We need to protect ourselves.”
“From that little thing?” Walsh said dismissively.
Varma frowned. “Some of the pupae are quite large, Commander.”
“Then let’s get going before they hatch. Move,” Walsh barked.
No one budged.
Gibbs spoke up, “Maybe Jane’s got the right idea. There might be a lot more of these things. They’re going to be hungry, don’t you think? What are they going to eat?” Gibbs had one hand protectively on Compton’s arm. Compton slouched, an unfocused expression on his face.
The nepatrox suddenly scuttled forward, hissing and slashing at the air in spirals with its tail. It was closest to Jane. Though it was still twenty feet or more away, she backed up involuntarily, bumping into Alan. He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to push her behind him. She resisted his gentle shove and stayed put, noting that motion of any kind seemed to enflame the creature’s temper. But even that subtle movement antagonized it. It lunged forward a few steps, hissing, clacking its teeth together rhythmically, flaring and pulsing the bizarre flaps that framed its mouth.
“What else do you know about these creatures, Jane?” Varma asked.
Jane felt Alan’s hand on her shoulder, tensing as the nepatrox crept closer.
“They’re extremely aggressive,” she said without taking her eyes off the creature. “The stinger contains a paralytic. They prefer to eat their food while it’s still alive.”
Walsh glared at them with disdain. “I’ve seen rats bigger than that thing.” He shrugged off his breathing harness and gripped the canister by its top strap, moving deliberately toward the creature.
It held its ground for a moment, prancing on its front claws like an excited dog. When Walsh got within ten feet of it, the rhythmic gnashing and flapping escalated. It charged.
Walsh was ready. He swung the cylinder of compressed air like a club, striking the animal with a solid whump, sending it flying. It hit the wall and slid to the floor, lifeless.
Jane’s stomach turned over.
“Well, there’s a strategy for you,” Alan said dryly.
Walsh turned and glowered at them. “All right? Move out.”
“Ah, Walsh, you’ve got another little friend,” Gibbs said nervously, gesturing down the hall with his flashlight, revealing another creature emerging from the darkness. Compton seemed unaware that anything was happening.
Walsh’s eyebrows came down into a thunderous expression and he pivoted. Alan lifted his flashlight a little higher, to join Gibbs’s. Jane gasped. There were actually several creatures approaching Walsh’s location.
One of them was the size of a full-grown Labrador retriever. It opened its hinged jaws, flaring the winged flaps to a span of three to four feet, then turned and scooped up one of the smaller creatures, choking its companion down before the thing could even struggle. Without even a pause it returned its attention to Walsh and flared and pulsed its mouth flaps, letting out a shrieking cry.
The call was taken up by those around it. The chilling sound echoed and was answered again and again from farther—and farther—back down the hall.
The blood drained from Jane’s head. She felt lightheaded and cold. Her heart thudded and her muscles tensed to run.
The largest nepatrox regarded Walsh intently, its dark eyes seemed to gleam with hunger, its tail swinging in long lazy arcs. It hissed.
“Walsh!” Jane called out. She wasn’t sure if she was warning him or pleading with him at that point. She felt helpless, rooted to the spot where she stood.
Time slowed to a trickle. She felt, rather than saw, Alan behind her rummaging inside his pack for his pistol. Varma and Gibbs took up defensive stances, shoulder to shoulder, guns pointed at the end of trembling arms.
The corridor lights suddenly came on, at full brightness. Jane flinched and blinked.
The creatures froze for a second, and in that second Walsh fired into the largest animal’s open mouth. The hollow-tipped bullet was designed for maximum destruction upon impact. The nepatrox’s head exploded, showering the corridor with gore for a four-foot radius. The beast dropped instantly.
The other creatures sprang back at the deafening sound, but quickly recovered, sniffing and hissing around their felled neighbor. Within seconds they’d ripped its carapace apart and were feasting on it.
Bile rose in Jane’s throat and she coughed reflexively. She was glad she hadn’t eaten anything for a few hours. She didn’t have anything to bring up.
Walsh stood there watching them, the pistol dangling at his side. He was only ten feet in front of them, but it felt like a mile.
“Walsh!” Jane screamed, “Defensive formation!”
He came to himself with a start. He looked at the gun in his hand, then back at them, as though confused.
The others started yelling too, calling for him to come back to the group.
“Jane—get Compton’s gun out of his pack,” Alan urged in her ear.
Jane grabbed Compton by the shoulders and shoved him, staggering, behind Varma and Gibbs where he’d be safer. She slid the pack from his shoulders and fumbled through the pockets until her fingers closed over the textured grip of Tom’s Beretta. There was a magazine already loaded. She pulled back the slide, and let it spring back into place, effectively loading the first round, then brushed her thumb over the safety, just li
ke she’d been taught. She scooped up three additional magazines and slid them into the side pocket of her flight suit.
“You got it, Jane?” Alan’s eyes were wide and dilated. He jerked his head back toward the way they’d come. “Take Compton back to the deck-to-deck transport, where he’ll be safe. We’ll never make it to the capsule.”
She started to protest, but the sound of gunfire cut off any sound she might make. It was overwhelmingly loud in such an enclosed space. She looked up. Walsh had returned to them, with more creatures in pursuit.
As a group, the four of them—Walsh, Gibbs, Varma and Alan—formed up into a retreating wall, edging backwards down the corridor toward the deck to deck transport, firing into a growing mass of hungry animals. They were trying to keep them at bay, but there seemed to be more of the nepatrox arriving every second.
Jane held her own gun in her hands, torn about what to do. Compton was just standing there staring in to space. He wouldn’t move without being led. She glanced over her shoulder. The hall behind them was clear. She took Compton’s arm to lead him. He shuffled a few steps, but he was resistant to being moved very far very fast.
“I’m not getting much penetration here!” Gibbs yelled.
“Aim for an open mouth!” Walsh barked. “It’s their weakest point! When you empty that clip, load armor-piercing rounds!”
Jane kept pushing at the older man to keep his momentum going. Her heart was in her throat. Hysteria was rising up inside her. She wanted to run.
Alan shouted, “For the record, I’m very uncomfortable firing ballistics inside a space ship!”
Compton drifted to a halt.
Jane pulled hard on his arm. He took a single staggering step and stopped.
She pulled again. He resisted, swaying.
Gibbs backed into Compton, and there was a precarious moment when it seemed like Compton might go down. Jane wrapped her arms around him, supporting his weight so he wouldn’t pitch forward and tried again to ease him into movement.
But his legs just crumpled under him. He fell to his knees and Jane buckled too, under his weight. She struggled for a long, desperate moment, trying ineffectually to lift him back to his feet. He was dead weight against her.
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