Kraken Mare

by Jason Cordova

  It may not have been evident before the prison break had begun, but it seemed pretty obvious now that Baptiste was the sort to hold a grudge.

  “I have no idea where he is,” I said. “Last I saw him, he was still in his cell.” This was true, I hadn’t seen him since things went south. The computer in Central said he was still in the cell, though I had never actually checked inside his cell to confirm what the computer told me. Still, the way things were going, I doubted that he would have escaped and made problems for us. Well, added to our growing list of problems, in any case. I could have checked my PDA but I wasn’t sure if it was working properly. Things had gotten decidedly strange over the past few hours.

  “I know this!” Baptiste fairly screamed at me. It took him a few moments to regain control of his composure, which told me quite a bit about his mental stability. In a nutshell? He was crazy, plain and simple. If it hadn’t been obvious before, he was making certain everyone knew it now. After he had managed to rein in his heavy panting he continued. “I want you to track him down and eliminate him.”

  I laughed out loud. Probably wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done, but I couldn’t help it.

  “You want me to kill the man who has broken out of more prisons and escaped more search parties than all of us combined on this station? The one guy who could kill me without me ever even knowing he was there until after the knife enters my spine?” I laughed some more. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Then they die,” Baptiste said and without a moment of hesitation the mind-wiped maintenance workers renewed their efforts to kill each other. I raised my hands in a defeated gesture.

  “Fine! Just stop! I’ll do it,” I grudgingly agreed. I was still playing the role of the good guy, damn it. I needed to get that problem checked.

  “As added motivation, I think I’ll bring these two up to my playroom,” Baptiste said in a silky voice. It was a tone which raised the pucker factor exponentially. “Now go and find the traitor. Kill him, and we’ll talk about saving these two—as well as your precious little doctor.”

  “What guarantees do I have that you won’t simply kill them when I’m done?” I asked.

  “None,” Baptiste replied, “but if you accomplish this, we can discuss your evacuation from the station. I can promise you that you will be in one piece and breathing, as long as you do as you’re told.”

  He was lying. I knew that he was lying. He knew that I knew that he was lying. The problem, though? I did not want to be responsible for the deaths of the mind-wipes, or Doctor Isaac for that matter. Baptiste, the bastard, had factored all this into his plan. So he knew that even if I figured out that he was full of it, I would still struggle on in hopes of saving a few more lives. He knew me well enough by now and I him.

  “Is he still in his cell?” I asked, stalling for time.

  “I have no idea,” Baptiste said. “You should go find out.”

  His cell was upstairs. Three levels. I glanced back at the ruined elevator, once more wondering if its destruction had been such a good idea after all. After a few more contemplative moments I decided that no, it wasn’t.

  Damn it. I hated those stairs like a Bostonian hated a New Yorker.

  Kansas, by God. Flat, boring Kansas.

  ঠ

  I managed the stairs without too much difficulty, all things considered. Yeah, I was wheezing like a spent race horse afterwards, and my ankles and knees had begun to throb painfully, but I made it up in one piece. That had to count for something.

  Control was deserted, as expected. I tried to ignore the bodies of my fellow guards as best as I could but each one left a small hole in my soul. It was rough, but I couldn’t afford to do anything for them at the moment. I limped painfully over to the control desk and looked over the screens. The display showed the Holomisa was still in his cell, thank God. I didn’t have the energy to try and chase him down for Baptiste. I had a little niggling of doubt in the back of my mind that this was all an exercise in futility but damn it, I had to try. Wipes weren’t exactly innocent but they were still human, and not whatever Baptiste had turned them into.

  Even if that meant working with the villain.

  I slid my index finger up on the desk and activated the door for Holomisa’s cell. I walked over quickly, hand drifting down to my rifle I had managed to snag before I had run. I frowned at that. Wait a second, I thought as I watched the cell open up, where did my big bag of boomies go?

  I thought back. I vaguely recalled having the bag when I was in the hangar, but after that it was a little murky. I tried to remember if I had had it when I stumbled into the Maintenance section by mistake but wasn’t certain. Maybe I had dropped it?

  Still, I had my Fullminster-Kurkai 25 high-velocity rifle and a few flash grenades, so I wasn’t completely hosed. I had two magazines plus the one I had in the rifle, and that would normally be more than enough to ruin anyone’s day. The aptly named FUKU-25 's standard magazine replaced every fourth round with a high-explosive shell, which was very useful when you wanted to spread the hate amongst a group of targets. It was a tracer that would leave a smoking crater in its wake.

  It was a fine weapon, though it didn’t hold a candle to my beloved .50 caliber sniper rifle I’d used back on my own personal Hell, Soma.

  I shook off the idle thought. Tired, beaten, and exhausted were a few words that could start to explain my wandering mind. I felt muzzy and heavy, like a shroud was over my head. I grunted as I recognized the sensation. I had a concussion. Provided I survived this, it would make my fourth documented one. Hooray for the marvels of modern medicine.

  I brought the rifle up and peeked into the cell. I didn’t want to kill him like this but it was the only way where I stood even a remote chance. In a straight head-to-head fight I was certain that Captain Holomisa would wreck me.

  The achy feeling in the front and side of my head, remnants of the concussion, made my eyes water. I blinked and tried to shake off the sleepy feeling. It was starting to mess with me pretty bad. It took a few more tries before I could see clearly into the captain’s cell. My eyes widened in shock.

  The cell was empty.

  “No,” I whispered as I looked frantically around Control but there was no sign of Holomisa. The captain was gone, and there was nothing I could do. “Wait—the trackers…”

  I looked at the screen, then Holomisa’s cell, shook my head, and looked back at the screen. The tracker showed Holomisa in his clearly empty cell. I checked the other inmate’s locations. All were where I had either left them dead, or, in Baptiste’s case, where I knew he was camping. Hell, the damned thing even showed that the door to the captain’s cell was closed. I slammed my fist down on the release in frustration, unable to hold back the barking laugh as nothing happened.

  There was no way I was going to be able to save anyone now.

  Holomisa had somehow pulled out his tracker and hid it within his cell, undoubtedly. The device normally would have alerted Control if someone had done such a thing but with the Things wrangling up the remaining civilians and everyone else dead, the alarm had probably gone unnoticed. Chaos like the prison break was a great cover to do one’s dirty work.

  I didn’t see any blood, but that didn’t mean anything at this point. Holomisa had gone through the same procedures that the eleven others had, so there was no reason to think that whatever change had occurred to them hadn’t happened to him as well. After seeing Jou make himself twice as big and Gentry… I shivered at the memory of the convict. Hindsight seemed to make him scarier. I was glad that I had managed to put him down for good. That was one scary bastard.

  Had Holomisa gone the rogue path? That was a terrifying thought.

  A sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I dropped to my knees and vomited bile, the bitter acid burning my throat and leaving a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. I let the rifle go and used my hands to keep from falling flat on my face. Once the heaving stopped, I tried to spit the last remnants of the b
ile from my mouth. The heavy sensation in my head had lessened a bit, but I was still feeling less than optimum. The concussion was starting to kick my ass in a major way.

  I grabbed the FUKU and crawled back up to my feet shakily. I needed a new plan and I needed it quickly. I glanced back at the open cell door and cursed under my breath. I nearly gagged when the smell of dried blood and bile hit me. I’d almost forgotten about the bodies nearby.

  What’s this universe coming to?

  I pressed my head against the cool plasteel and closed my eyes. I needed to think, to formulate, to try and get rid of the godforsaken headache that was ripping my skull apart. I focused on my breathing for long moments and tried to relax as best as I could. Tension aggravated my headaches in the past, and I figured that the reason doctors always told me to take it easy after suffering from a concussion was due to this. So I tried to erase every thought from my mind. I tried to envision nothing but darkness overwhelming everything. Not shadows, but something far deeper. Not covering, but eliminating. I tried to see nothing but darkness in my thoughts.

  Most people don’t realize this, but it’s almost impossible to think about nothing. There has to be something in the mind, whether it’s insignificant or not. The mind is always working. Always projecting, and there is literally no way to turn it off. So a trick I learned a long time ago when I had trouble relaxing or even sleeping was to imagine empty space. No heat, no cold, just a conscienceless floating midst the vastness of a dark void.

  It was here that the dreams usually came. This time, though, there was nothing. No ideas, no sense of direction. Nothing. Not even my subconscious was going to be able to bail me out of this mess. Not this time.

  “Screw it,” I muttered under my breath and opened my eyes. I pushed the familiar darkness away. If I was going out, I would at least make an effort to save Isaac and the two mind-wipes. If I was lucky, I would even find out where the Things disappeared to. I hadn’t seen them up on the Observation Deck, so I was holding out hope that they had squirreled themselves away somewhere safe and were simply waiting for me to show up so we can get the hell out of here.

  The light in Control was bright, but I needed my eyes open if I was going to have any shot at taking down Baptiste and saving everyone on the station. That included the mind-wipes, Thing One and Two, Doctor Isaac and even Captain Holomisa. I double-checked my rifle and made certain that my flash grenades were secure and in place.

  Did I have a plan? No, not really. I had something that was almost as good.

  I needed to go down to Research, confront Baptiste and kill him. Barring that, severely injured would work. Surviving would be an added bonus. I had a goal now, a mission, though not necessarily a plan. Whatever. This was going to have to do for now. I moved out of Control and down the hall. I paused as I realized something I had overlooked.

  That meant taking the stairs again. I looked at the ruined elevator shaft and then the stairs. I shook my head. I was a complete moron. Yes, the boom had been immensely satisfying, at the time. Now? Not so much. I sighed and shoved open the door to the stairwell.

  “Christ on a crutch…”

  ঠ

  I listened carefully at the door to Research, almost—but not quite—thankful that I had to descend the staircase. Had I been required to go up, I’m not sure I’d have heard anything over the pounding in my chest or the ragged breaths caused by my bruised and battered ribs. I turned the handle carefully, easing the door open just far enough to see the hall.

  Clear.

  This is playing hell with my nerves.

  Checking what was left of the elevator, I saw the charges had performed as expected. The emergency brakes had kicked in fast enough to stop it just above the floor level, with only enough space to see the sparks coming from the blown-out panel through the smoke. It wouldn’t be going anywhere, ever again. While I wasn’t looking forward to humping any survivors up several flights of stairs to the shuttles, I couldn’t repress a self-satisfied grin.

  Excellent. Now all I have to do is stop the bad guy, rescue anyone still alive, and figure out how to call in the rescue team. Piece of cake.

  The hall leading to the main research area was short and gave me a fairly open line of sight across the Well to the back wall. So far, so good. I kept the rifle level as I approached. I didn’t know how many civilians had been taken, but based on the amount of gore upstairs, I wasn’t expecting many. The smell, similar but weaker than in the staircase leading to observation, hit me after only a few steps. I stopped at the corner, mentally psyching myself up for what I’d find. A few deep breaths, a few seconds of pep talk, and I was ready. I stepped into the room.

  I thought I was prepared for the worst. I was way off.

  “Hello, John,” Baptiste said, smiling. “I was hoping you’d drop by and spend some quality time with me.” He stood, gently placing the arm in his hand on the counter next to him. “I do apologize about the mess, you caught me right in the middle of putting this little puzzle back together.”

  At his feet lay a collection of what seemed to be random body parts. Arms, legs, hands—two sets of each, by my count.

  “You know, it is just so difficult at times to tell what goes where.” Baptiste turned slightly, reaching behind him. “Especially when it comes to these two.”

  He faced me again, holding Poole’s head in one hand, Lockhart’s in the other, faces frozen in identical expressions of horror.

  “Give up now, Baptiste, and I won’t kill you,” I said, my finger stroking the trigger. “I will put you down.”

  “Oh, John,” Baptiste said, “That you think you can, I just—well, I find it adorable.”

  The rifle barked, three 10 mm slugs impacting the wall behind Baptiste.

  “What the…” I missed. From less than ten meters away, I missed. The edge of my vision felt blurry, as though I had just woken up with a killer hangover. Blinking didn’t help. The rifle muzzle swung left to center again on Baptiste’s chest, the recoil of the next three shots causing it to rise slightly. A monitor died with a shower of sparks. I missed again?

  “You see, John,” Baptiste said, now meters closer and strolling towards me, “You can’t hit what you can’t perceive. And I can make you see what I want you to see.” I blinked, and he was on my left again, against the far wall of the room. “Am I here?” My vision blurred, and he was closer, on my right side. “Or is it over here?”

  I leveled the rifle, forcing myself to keep my eyes open. Baptiste shimmered, appearing to shift suddenly around the room.

  “As much fun as this is, let’s step it up a notch.” His smile grew. “Are you even sure you’re trying to kill the right person?” Another shimmer, and my rifle was pointed at Gerry. I hesitated, the muzzle wavering slightly.

  “Why are you waiting, John, I thought you were a stone killer?” The voice was Gerry’s, but the tone underneath was all Baptiste.

  I pulled the trigger, another computer dying as Gerry disappeared.

  “Oho! So not quite as fond of your old boss as you thought, eh?” I whipped around, just in time to see Gerry’s image shift, April Voecks taking his place. “Maybe someone a little closer to your rung on the corporate ladder?” Her face took on a pleading look. “Please, John, I thought we were friends? I saved your life!”

  “April died in my arms,” I said. “I know it’s you, Baptiste.” Three more missed shots, and Baptiste’s position changed again. I tracked him, squeezing the trigger as I moved, trying to focus on the blurry image before me.

  It solidified, rocking slightly as the bullets struck. My heart caught in my throat.

  Concy. I had just shot my dead wife.

  Her features were filled with pain, blood streaming from the wounds in her chest. I dropped the rifle on its sling, anguish coursing through my body. I knew, deep in my mind, that it was just Baptiste playing another trick, but I couldn’t stop the rush of emotion. I took a hesitant step in her direction.

  “And, that, my dear John,�
� Baptiste’s voice came from directly behind me, “is why you will fail.”

  I felt myself heaved off of my feet, Concy fading out as I was slammed to the floor. The breath left my lungs as the rifle slammed into my kidneys, pain causing me to gag soundlessly for air. Baptiste’s kick caught me square in the chest, the ceramic armor plate cracking at the impact. I slid backwards, unable to do anything but try and breathe, watching helplessly as he closed, flexing his fingers.

  “Poor little Johnny,” another plate cracked at his next kick. The impact felt like a .45 slug at close range. “You couldn’t save them. Any of them. No matter how hard you fought and tried, it was beyond your level of skill.”

  Baptiste squatted down next to me, his face above mine. “Why do you think you were cashiered so quickly after Soma? You want to believe it was skill that saved you, but deep down, where you don’t want to look, you know the truth. It was sheer luck. The Marines knew it. They could see you for what you really are—the boy playing war while all the grownups die around him. Too many old action movies and adventure books gave you a false sense of manhood.”

  I couldn’t help myself, flinching as his hand stretched out to tousle my hair, hating myself for giving him some satisfaction. “See? The scared child never strays too far from the surface.”

  I drew in a ragged breath, finally able to get my wind back.

  “Fuck you, Baptiste.”

  “Profanity is the first resource of the immature, my dear boy. You should really work on your vocabulary.” A sharp slap across my cheek, faster than I could follow, bounced my skull of the floor. “Normally, I’d wash your mouth out with soap, but that will have to do for now.”

  “You realize you’re not getting off this station, right?” I coughed, body complaining with every motion. “The U.N. knows about the breakout, and will only allow those shuttles to leave with the correct codes.” I jerked my chin at the remains of Thing One and Two. “And you killed the only two guys that had them.”