Titan: A Science Fiction Horror Adventure (NecroVerse Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “Fusion. Overwhelming heat and pressure forcing two different molecules together, and bang! Sound familiar?” Poole said, appearing suddenly atop the reactor housing. He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the confined space. “Think about it. Smash some Tritium and Deuterium together into a confined space. Force them to collide with super-powered magnetic fields, and if the heat and pressure are right…boom! Mama and papa not only give birth to baby Helium, but random, firing neutrons and a butt…load…of…energy. So impressive, isn’t it? One hundred times the heat of a star–all that energy, that potential, and it’s trapped in a little, metal case, between my legs.” Poole smiled crookedly, kicked his feet out childishly, and patted the reactor’s encasement.

  “Is everything a joke to you?” Jacoby tried to straighten.

  “No, not everything. Just most things. Okay, so maybe almost everything. Except maybe the emergency shut off on those plasma saws. Ya know? The emergency shut-off you never check, before firing up that two thousand-degree, flesh cutting, buzz box?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Oh, don’t be so touchy, Jacky-Boy. Your underwhelming sense of humor is matched only by your disappointing appreciation of awe and wonder. Between my legs rests the power to push us through the void of space, travel to far off, unexplored galaxies. Or, in your case, carry you to safety. And in a way, the fusion happening just beneath me isn’t that different from what has been happening in your head. Your brain, plus me, and a skull-splitting amount of pressure, and boom, you get us! Neither is what it was before, but so much more! A magnificent and complex genius, and a brute of unimaginable destructive simplicity.”

  “I’m not saying it’s not. But you do have a way of glossing over the negatives,” Jacoby said, meeting Poole’s gaze.

  “Oh, boy. We’re like two mules fighting over a turnip, you and me,” Poole sighed. “Negatives? Are you warming up for a whining session? Cause I’m not sure I have the energy to block out that much complaining right now.”

  “Mules fighting over a turnip?”

  “I guess this moment was inevitable. Go ahead, I’m ready, open the floodgates…turn the goat loose. If you must. But if he stays out of his pen long, then he is bound to crap all over the place. You, sir, are going to be the one to clean it up! Animal feces in a sealed spaceship sounds mighty stinky.”

  Jacoby sighed, dropped his head, and scratched his stubble. He had no idea what Poole was trying to say.

  “Turn my goat loose? Turnips? Clean up crap? There are no goats and no crap. What are you talking about?”

  “Soraya is a veritable encyclopedia of fascinating southern phrases and cultural tidbits. It took some digging to unearth them. I mean, phew, Jacky-Boy, she’s tossed ‘em down a mineshaft and caved that thing in with a whole metric ton of dynamite. But I found them, and they are so very epic! Do you think she’s embarrassed of them? I mean, a bit of her drawl is still there, but she tries incredibly hard to cover it up.”

  “I don’t know. It’s not exactly something we’ve had a chance to talk about lately. Mostly it’s been ‘oh shit, run’ or ‘hey, stay away from that hungry pile of guts’, or ‘let’s get off the station before we get torn apart’”.

  Poole exhaled loudly. “Fair enough. Let’s add it to the list of things to ask…later. Put it right under—Anna’s quiet urges to hit things, Lex’s proclivity for scotch over bourbon, and the difference between bunnies and rabbits. Yes! I know. Ugh…Lex’s cravings. I so wish I could actually drink something,” Poole said, nodding disappointingly. “Hey, on another–nother note. I feel like we need to decide on a magic word or something. Here it’s not an issue, but as soon as you get back into the world—well, if it still exists, you can’t just go around screaming ‘Poole, where are you? Poole, I can’t do anything without you, and even though you’re stuck in my head, I can’t find you’. Honestly, Jacky, you’re like those people that can never find their glasses, when they are right there, sitting on their face!”

  “It’s hard to tell where you are and exactly what you’re doing from one minute to the next. Well, with your desire to make my life even more of a fucking circus at every freaking opportunity…”

  “Now that I think about it, cobblestones, I like those old stories about the genie in the lamp,” Poole said, continuing as if Jacoby hadn’t spoken. “Yes? No? The genie was the most powerful being in their world, completely underappreciated in its time. And it was unfairly trapped in a dark, crowded container for most of its miserable life, too. Sound familiar? Maybe you could rub something, and I could shoot out in a cloud of colorful smoke or something. I’d probably end up erupting into your pants like a…” Poole laughed unceremoniously, “Ha ha…erupt. Wow, that sounds way dirtier than I intended. Get it?”

  “Did you call me cobblestones? What does that mean? And why a lamp?”

  “Use…your…imagination. I know it’s in here, as I’m constantly stepping over it every time I have to go to the bathroom. Your mind is like a five-year old’s bedroom. Pick…up…your…toys!”

  “Why did you…?” Jacoby tried to ask, but Poole cut back in.

  “I just figured with your extensive experience rubbing things, a lamp would be perfect…” Poole gave him a crude gesture and a wink. “Or do you think a gesture would be better? Think about that for a moment…you stomp your foot, or…or wait for it!” Poole blurted loudly, talking faster and louder. He kicked and slid forward, before landing noiselessly next to Jacoby. “A special hand clap or finger sign. Yes. Now that would be a summoning worthy of a…well, me! A grand entrance, with trumpets blaring, maidens dancing, and complete with a cheering, adoring crowd. I could probably make half of that happen. Well, they’d be hallucinations that only you and the girls could see, but it would be splendid indeed! But the crowd. Not really a crowd when it’s just a few people. I really need to increase the size of our network.”

  “Just stop it! And stop calling it a network. We’re people, not hardware,” Jacoby growled and pressed his hands over his eyes as the pressure returned. He tried to stand up straight again and failed. There was simply too much pressure inside his body.

  “Well, people are more like software. But yeah, your ‘meat sacks’ are pretty much organic hardware. Again, Jacky-Boy, lighten up!”

  “Lighten up? You know exactly why I can’t do that. How can I, when every other second you are filling my head with…with everything! I feel like I am going to explode.”

  “Come along now. The sheer volume of…well, anything it would take to fill your cavernous and relatively empty cranium is a volume that defies quantification! The number of decimal places boggles even me. I’m just in there casting pebbles around, hoping to hit anything, really. Sometimes the echoes are downright deafening. I feel like Edmund Hillary standing at the summit of Everest. I’m sure he screamed his name to the wind…the scope…the majesty he must have felt. All that openness. I do it sometimes. Scream my name into the vastness of your mind, just to hear the echoes.”

  “Hillary? Who is Edmund Hillary? What are you even talking about?” Jacoby groused and sagged forward, resting his weight against his knees. “You said we had shit to work out, you and me. How did you put it, ‘family style’? Well, I think the time’s now.”

  “Have you ever read a book?”

  “Of course, I ha…” Jacoby argued, but Poole cut him off.

  “Ask Soraya. Everest is on her bucket list. Where’s Red?”

  “Her name is Lex?”

  “I know. That’s what I said. I want her here. For, you know, emotional support,” Poole said, disappearing and reappearing atop the reactor vessel once again.

  “Emotional support? Are you fucking kidding?”

  “Oh, not for me, but you, Jack-a-doodle-doo. You saw what happened last time. You were very unreasonable, rigid, unflapping. As they say, ‘unreceptive to alternative points of view’. And…” Poole said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, “you said some very mean thin
gs to me. Things I’ll not soon forget. I don’t want to obfuscate you, but I must point out that the last thing you meat suits need right now is another ‘Jacoby gets angry-gold and tears a hole in the ship’ moment. Jacky-smash!”

  “Wait, ‘mean things’? Is that what you’re going with? I hurt your feelings?”

  “Don’t be stupid! I just meant that…”

  “I can own up to my mistakes. I’ve made plenty of them, and probably will continue to. But everything I did and said was for a reason. I was trying to save my friend’s life. The life that you put in danger.”

  “Ugh. See? I already feel a tingly, deathly spasm rippling through my whole being. It’s…it’s stress, a tinge of…what is it? Heat? Anger? I think it would be best for our overall wellbeing if Red were here to mediate…she’s reasonable and can help keep you from saying stupid shit that will undoubtedly send me into another epic and catastrophic emotional meltdown. And she’s my favorite. She’s understated, subtle, and yet so very combustible. A paragon of emotional contradictions. Like me.”

  “Just stop talking in circles and listen!” Jacoby yelled. He straightened and grimaced, the pressure in his groin refusing to relent. His entire pelvis felt like it was full of concrete. That, mixed with the crawling anxiety and the bottomless hunger, were almost more than he could take.

  Poole turned, his mischievous smile melting away. The dark veins creeping through the skin around his eyes darkened just a bit, deepening his sunken, tired look.

  “You and I are stuck together, pal. As much as I hate the idea, it is undeniable at this point. We both like different things, which I find really strange, as a part of you is really a part of me. I can learn to live with that. But like I said, we’re stuck with one another, so we’ve got to find a way to coexist—a mutual ground. Not you and Lex, you me and Lex, or Soraya, or Anna. You…and…me, buddy. Survival is in our shared interest.”

  Poole reached up and pulled at his jumpsuit, as if suddenly uncomfortable with the collar’s tightness. Jacoby continued, determined to speak his mind.

  “I was stupid, angry, and short-sighted. God, I made one bad decision after another. And yes, I wish I could take most of them back. I’ve never been good about making decisions under pressure.”

  “Dost my ears deceive me?” Poole asked, blinking out and reappearing to his left. He reached up and twisted the corners of his mustache, his dark brown eyes studying him for a moment.

  Jacoby refused to look away. Poole looked like him once again, albeit with the ridiculous mustache, but he wasn’t quite the same. A hint of the black veins remained around his eyes, the resulting shadow giving him a noticeably weary, weathered appearance.

  “I’m usually capable of admitting when I’m wrong or I do or say something stupid. I can’t always acknowledge it right away, but I get there eventually. Life has taught me that much, at least. There is too much at stake now to let our pride get in the way.”

  Poole nodded. “Usually, yes. You do have lots of practice in that regard. And yes to the other thing also. You move with all the emotional velocity of a racing glacier. You are the spokesmodel for emotive flexibility and quick mindedness. Truly, a psychological marvel. Ya know, now that you’ve brought it up. Maybe I should mess around with your psycho-emotive cognitive process so you can identify these moments in real time and avoid the unnecessary ‘make a bad decision, stomp your feet and cry, sniffle, and cry some more’ methodology. You are very much like a toddler in that regard. Not that people don’t love toddlers, but…well, you know.”

  Jacoby swallowed hard, biting back an angry retort. Be the bigger man, he thought. We won’t get anywhere if I lose my temper again. Find a middle ground! Be…the…bigger…man. He can make the pain, the pressure, all of it, go away. He was already mad at Anna, it wouldn’t do him any good to pick fights with the invisible A-hole living in his head, too.

  “I don’t want you to mess around with anything. That’s the point.”

  Poole chuckled, smiled, and waved him off.

  “Like I was trying to say. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you, or Reeds, or anyone, for that matter. We were in a lose-lose scenario, and it only made things worse. I felt cornered, caged, and admittedly, I stopped listening to people. I know it was Manis’ fault. He’s the one I was really mad at, but I took it out on other people.”

  “There. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Apology accepted,” Poole said, his smile widening. The black veins framing his eyes lightened a bit more, the aged, weathered look melting away.

  In truth, it wasn’t hard, per se. But it did hurt a little, as Jacoby still believed wholeheartedly that he’d acted both reasonably and with good intentions.

  “Now it’s your turn. Is there anything you would like to say?”

  “Ugh…” Poole breathed, “I’m…sorry.”

  “Are you asking or telling?” Jacoby pressed.

  “Do I have to pick?” Poole started to say and paused. “Cause here’s the thing, Jack-a-liciousness. I don’t really apologize. You see, an apology denotes ‘one has done something wrong’. And I…”

  A beep sounded behind him, the door hissing open with a gentle whisper. Jacoby turned as Soraya walked slowly inside.

  “Are you okay? That was kind of a scary outburst back there,” she said. Her eyes caught on him, swung quickly across the room, and locked on Poole before flitting back. The silvery ring in her irises caught the light, flashing like polished metal.

  Jacoby started to nod, to lie and tell her everything was great…no, peachy, but stopped. He literally almost said the word “peachy”. How? Why? He’d never said it before. Not on purpose or by accident. Jacoby slapped a palm against his thigh, took a breath, and tried to stand up straight.

  “Honestly, no. But I think it’s time to start working through the tangled mess that is…us,” he said, searching for the words to best describe their complicated knot of relationships. It felt chaotic, like standing in the doorway of the dirtiest, messiest packrat’s horde imaginable. Where would they start? Would it all topple over and crush them to death once they started to move shit? And where would they stand at the end?

  “We’ve all done things we regret–said things, done things we otherwise wouldn’t have done. But that was back there,” Jacoby said, pointing with his thumb behind him.

  “The transmitter arrays?” Poole asked, looking to his hand and leaning to the side, as if trying to look past him to see what he was pointing at.

  “I mean back on the station,” Jacoby said, angrily. “We spent all of our time focused on one thing: survival. Get to the next safe place, run from this, or that. We never had time to really sit down and figure anything out. It just sort of happened and we reacted. We need to figure out what has and is happening to us, but also, what we mean to each other.”

  What Jacoby wanted to say was: I’ve got an obnoxious, self-aware brain tumor in my brain, which I then sort of passed on to three women like some freaky, alien sexually transmitted disease, melting, boney flesh monsters trying to tear us apart, and oh yeah, and years ago, I sort of accidently strangled my dad to death, and I can’t even talk to my best friend about it because she spends all of her time chatting with computers now. Fuck!

  “Okay, gotcha. And yeah, I knew what you meant. I just like the way you bumble about. It is so incredibly entertaining, like a flightless bird truing so voraciously to defy gravity,” Poole said with a chuckle.

  “Why do you have to be such a horse’s ass?” Soraya asked, moving to Jacoby’s side. Her presence provided him a boost; a shot of strength that helped him stand just a bit straighter. He’d been embarrassed when she first appeared, but realized that she was affected as much as him. And unlike Poole, she seemed to be in his corner.

  “Oh, Soraya. Always the team player.”

  “Damn straight I am. And we are a team. That does include you, too, by the way. We’re all affected, all changed…in so many ways. We’ve lost people. No, most of us have lost pretty much everything.
Except for each other. We need you…” Soraya said.

  “Ahh. Why thank you, peaches.”

  “Peaches?” Soraya breathed, “I just don’t understand why you’ve got to be such an asshole.”

  Poole’s smile faltered and he staggered back a half-step, then reached up and covered his chest, as if shot. His smile returned quickly, however, as his hands flew out wide. “It’s just me, baby!” he cried out. “Y’all have had a lifetime to develop and grow, socialize, acclimate, and evolve emotionally. I was just thrown together eight days ago–a little ground up Jacoby, a pinch of alien bio-matter for hydration, and a heaping handful of suppressed, traumatic memories splashed in for spice and all mixed into a dough. Boom,” he said loudly, slapping his hands together and forming an explosion. “Then Soraya enters the mix. Oh, wait, here’s some Anna, and then Lex, too. I’m constantly breaking apart and reforming with slivers and splashes of your personalities, inclinations, distastes, and desires added to the mix. All the while trying to integrate everything new with an underlying evolutionary matrix that was never meant to feel the ‘whys’ and the ‘how’s’ of purposeful rationality and emotional absurdity. If any of you lot were in my shoes your head would simply explode in a shower of pulpy, meaty gore.”

  “Graphic,” Soraya said with a frown.

  “Understatement of the millennia, my sweet okra cakes,” Poole agreed, nodding animatedly. “And all things considered, well, minus that whole ‘Jacoby pissed me off so I kind of imploded’ thing, I think I’ve done surprisingly good holding it altogether, for the record. I need a badge for my sash, don’t you think?”

  “The meltdown, how do we keep that from happening again? I mean, is it still a risk?”

  “I don’t think…I mean, as long as two thirty-five is involved in the scenario, it’s always a fringe possibility that shit can go completely sideways, and I could…might lose my cool. But…” Poole said, raising a finger and closing his eyes. “I’m learning and growing…expanding my being. Emotions are getting easier to integrate as I gain experience and context. In time it shouldn’t be an issue. For now, you could say I’m constantly fighting the urge to…implode about the stupid shit.”