by Alan Spencer
Ernie directed him to the nearest wall. He pointed out the planets among the deep black backing of the solar system. Jupiter. Uranus. Mercury. Saturn. The suited ass kisser went on and on about infinity, and how far they were from Earth, and how nobody else had taken this many people, on this big of a ship, with this many fancy accommodations, to space. NASA paled in comparison to Globo Corps' advancements.
Ernie's words meant very little to Ram.
Words were a joke compared to the sights.
What Ram's eyes beheld was overwhelming. Ram couldn't stop taking in the immensity of the solar system. They had left Earth behind, because Earth was no more. Anything could happen on the way to Second Earth. This ship was the only thing between survival and the end of humanity.
Ram's head buzzed with pain. The blow to his head was still bothering him. The voltage to his body also stayed with him. The feeling of electricity in his veins remained unsettling. As unsettling as knowing the man talking to you was planning to kill you the first chance he got.
The only way to work past this strange moment was to keep talking.
"What we survived is horribly miraculous. It's amazing anybody could build a ship that could take us to another planet. The fact Globo Corps established another planet is amazing."
Ernie seemed to take off his false front and spoke candidly. The change was chilling. The man's eyes were deep black pools of cynicism. Ernie leaned in real close to Ram and kept his voice barely above a whisper. The man didn't want anybody around them to hear a word coming out of his mouth.
"Honestly, Ram, this wasn't a humanitarian affair. This ship was only meant for the world's elite to have their own planet to live on. The billionaires who were bored of spending money on things available in boutiques, or even the illegal things on the black market. Alligator skin apparel and flecks of gold on your cake don't get these people off anymore. What's the point in spending the money you earned if you can't find anything interesting to buy, am I right?
"I understand their situation. You reach the pinnacle in the capitalistic system, and you crave new things to obtain. That's where I come in, Ram. I work for Bryce Saxon. He's the president of Globo Corps. You haven't met him yet. Mr. Saxon and I act as liaisons for these ultra-rich clients to find new ways to burn their money. Call us mega brokers.
"I'm not talking about expensive housing, or buying an island. I'm talking about the purchasing of an entire planet. Then the creation of this space ship. Then real estate on the new planet. It goes on and on. Once we presented this project to the right people, everything seemed to fall into place. Strange how that worked out. Reports kept piling up about how Earth's time was about up. Mother Nature was going to hit the self-destruct button, and we were all going to burn.
"And that made more sales and commissions for me. That fear is the engine of commerce. It's all gold in my bank. Our clients wanted quick access to The Redeemer, so we built hovercrafts to get them there that were fire and heat resistant. They wanted to have a good time on the way to their new home, so we added the many special features aboard this fine vessel.
"This wasn't a great plan to save humanity. It was flawed out the ass. We didn't realize how close we were cutting it to being cooked crispy. This was just a way for rich people to get their gold rocks off. Bottom line. The truth. I shit you not, Ram."
A female waiter in a gold sparkling outfit was walking by the groups of people with wine flutes full of sparkling champagne. Ernie grabbed one for himself and Ram.
Ernie extended his flute in cheers. "Get some booze in you, buddy. You're going to be glad-handing and chatting up our guests in a few moments."
Use me, Ram thought. Go ahead. I'm going to make you jump off sides, and when you do, I'll throw you down so hard, you'll break into a million pieces.
"Come on, Ram. Let's meet the guests."
Ram followed Ernie across the soft faux grass track until they reached an open-air bar where hundreds of people were waiting for him to make an appearance.
It had been two long years since he had received this much fanfare.
Ram would have to enjoy it, while it lasted.
Football, the cool space ship, and Second Earth wouldn't matter in the face of what was coming their way very soon.
Part Three: Hijacked
No Chance to Be Brave
"You can't do this! Consider the people you're putting in danger. Yourselves included!"
Mooch couldn't process what had happened in a matter of minutes in the control room. The dozen people in the room wore a mix of fine suits, nice dresses, and cutting edge styles only serious money could afford. The group was heavily armed with a variety of weapons. Machetes. Scythes. K-bar knives. M-16s. AK-47s. K-1200 riot-style 12 gauges. Colt AR-15 Carbines. MZ-14 Bullpups. Each of the mixed members of the group had large holy crosses drawn in their foreheads in what had to be blood. The way it dried on their skin, it was a grungy orange-brownish color.
Mooch feared for himself and Joslin. What were these people going to do to them? Joslin couldn't speak, so Mooch did the talking.
"What do you people want from us?"
The group's eyes were trained on one man. He was bald, roughly one-hundred and fifty pounds, tall and lanky, and had that religious zealot look about him. The kind of look that said 'I will crucify the world in the name of my insanity'.
This man stepped up to the control panel. He clutched a machete in one hand. This man's voice was thick with evil intentions. This man, this figurehead, had spoken brainwashing words to hundreds.
"What is going on in that room?"
Mooch swallowed hard. "This is where the fuel to the ship gets processed. It's the engine of the ship. It's why we're able to travel in space at such high speeds."
"No," the man said angrily. "What are those poor creatures doing in those pipes? I see sharks, I see fish, and I see life submerged in pink chemicals. How dare you? Nothing surprising here. Globo Corps has no scruples. Why couldn't they let God's will be done? You subvert God's word by building The Redeemer. You rape nature. This was supposed to be the end of the world. I demand you release these creatures at once and let them live their lives naturally. There is a way of things, and you, along with Globo Corps, have perverted them."
"Are you nuts?" Mooch couldn't believe what this crackpot jackpot was asking him. "You can't let them out. Look, I didn't put them there. When Globo Corps pumped water out of the ocean, they accidentally—"
The handle of the machete struck the top of Mooch's head. He dropped from his chair, slammed onto the ground, and lost his ability to see and breathe until firm hands lifted him back up into his chair.
The leader demanded again, "I said let them out. I'm not asking. You will do as I say."
Mooch's faculties returned, add to that a hot streak of anger. The bastard tried to crack his skull open, and he damn well came close to succeeding.
"The only way you could logically free the sharks is to open up the fresh water connections that feed into the engine. The water circulates into the same system, between filters and special barriers. It's all connected, but to mix the two, you'd have chemicals and, and, and sharks mixing with the plumbing and drinking water lines. You'd be insane to do such a thing! You'd destroy the ship. I won't help you. Joslin won't either. I refuse—gaaaaaaaaaaaaak!"
Joslin sprang out of her chair. She flicked open a butterfly knife from an ankle strap, slid the blade across Mooch's neck so hard, it created a great spurting yawn.
She kept stabbing, slicing, and hacking at Mooch's neck until the effort decapitated him.
Mooch didn't know what hit him, even after his lights went out, and his head bounced on the floor.
Joslin had to stop.
She was out of breath.
Her wrist and fingers hurt from clutching the knife so hard. She had literally punched her dead partner with the implement. Once Mooch lost his head, she kept sticking him in the chest. Blood was dripping everywhere. She was sick of pretending to be one of
Globo Corps' goons.
She wasn't a corporate goon. She was God's warrior. Her congregation had hidden for days in the cargo bay waiting for The Redeemer to take off, and now, God's word would be upheld. The end of humanity was now. They would see to it until the last heart stopped beating.
"Red Revolution is here," Joslin rasped. "We shall deliver humanity into the arms of the lord. His will shall be done. On Earth, as it is in space."
Mercy Lazar, the leader of the Red Revolution, the keeper of God's will, rubbed his hand in Mooch's still-burbling neck stump blood until his hands were dripping red. He drew a cross on Joslin's forehead.
"You've done us proud. All the hard work living among them, becoming one of them, has paid off. I want you to free those wonderful creatures from their chemical prisons. This is his will, and it shall be done."
"It wasn't easy. I only wanted to make you and everybody else proud."
Mercy held her face with both sticky red hands delicately. "You have. Very much so. Now free our poor creatures before we finish everybody else on the ship."
Joslin pushed aside the chair with Mooch's headless body. The corpse was flung onto the floor and struck the ground with a wet sound. She went to work at the control panel. She unlocked four clean water channels that fed into the engine room. Once those channels were opened, the pipes in the guts of the ship, the pink mess, flowed into the rest of the ship's water supply. When she turned off the filters, terminating any suction, the sharks were free to swim about The Redeemer.
"You did wonderfully," Mercy said. "The ship will not reach Second Earth. Now it is time to execute those on board who have subverted the will of our lord and savior. Everyone must die. Our hands will be wet with so much blood."
Shark Swim
Instinct told them what to do within the confines of the vast network of piping. The pink colors surrounding them no longer forced them to swim one way or another. They were free to move, and the sharks did just that.
They should be near death, but instead, their bodies raged with new impulses. Savage hunger. Furious power. The lust for blood was elevated ten-fold. The longer they went without food, the more fevered they were in their need for meat. Things that once ate vegetation or other fish now craved ALL meat.
New abilities accompanied this hunger. Thicker skin. Muscle as hard as steel. New teeth, now jagged, sharper, and freakishly large, allowed them to devour their victims with cruel precision. Digestive systems were altered and advanced. Their insides seemingly had recreated themselves for new tasks unknown to lower forms, but soon to be showcased to those on board this vessel.
The further the collection of marine life plundered forward, their instincts told them they would have to use unusual methods to reach their prey.
The swarm swam through the networks of tubing and delivered them to different parts of The Redeemer. They could sense voices speak through walls, hear hearts beat, circulatory systems pump blood, and feel the heat pulse off of living, fresh meat.
The guts they would devour.
The hunger they would quench.
Insatiable and unstoppable.
The hunt was on.
Glad-Hand Ram
Ram was shaking hands, hugging fans, and talking about his career as an award-winning quarterback. Liquor was flowing as the jovial conversations spread. Ram was standing in front of a water fountain with statues of mermaids posing on a tropical island. People kept asking him how good it felt to throw that pigskin in the face of Jake Lazar, that dirty terrorist. Ram didn't tell them his true feelings. He didn't relish in being a murderer. Ram edited out the aftermath of his actions, and how Red Revolution stalked him, and—
"Ram Rogan! So nice to meet you. Let me shake your hand."
Ram recognized the voice.
He's Samoan!
There was the man who was talking to Ernie Pine when Ram pretended to be unconscious in the medical ward. Ram could see him coming, and if Ernie was a greedy car salesman, Bryce Saxon was the seedy guy who handed out quarters at quarter peep show booths in the bad part of town. Bryce's skin was suitcase leather tan, his teeth bleached neon white, and every inch of him gleamed with a fresh coat of lotion sheen. If the bastard sat on a metal fold-out chair, he'd slide right off of it.
When Ram shook hands with Bryce, Ram knew he was shaking hands with the devil. Ernie's eyes harbored evil. Bryce's eyes seethed with hell's darkness.
"You're a hero, Ram. One of America's finest. We are lucky to have you aboard The Redeemer."
Bryce said this, and much more. He projected to the crowd, as if saying "Ram's a good guy, and so I am, because I'm standing right here next to him, right?"
One of the security officers dressed in all black fatigues with thick bullet proof vests, and this time without the helmet, took Bryce and Ernie aside. Ram could see the changes in both their faces. Their overconfidence deflated into fear.
The men were petrified, but of what?
The security officer escorted them away from the water fountain and the crowd of people without an explanation. New security officers joined them the further they moved away from the party.
Ram kept shaking hands, sharing football stories, and did his best to cheer up those who'd seen hell and had survived it.
When the crowd calmed down, Ram heard a distinct voice.
"Hey, All-American. You care to talk to a Pee Wee like me?"
Buffy was enjoying a bloody mary at the bar.
Ram joined her.
"If the Pee Wee team all looked like you, I think I'd quit the NFL and join up with you guys."
"Does it feel weird to have people wanting to shake your hand and meet you?"
"Actually, yes. I haven't played football in years. I've fallen off the radar. I'm washed up."
"Why did you quit football?"
"That's a hard question to answer."
"Try me."
Buffy was really interested in him. Everybody wanted to talk about the game, that special Super Bowl, but of his real personal life, not so much.
"I could tell you about it, but I don't want to go into it with so many people around. It's very personal."
Buffy realized she might've entered painful territory. "Sorry, Ram. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. I know we just met."
"It's different with you," Ram said. "You've seen me at my most vulnerable. When I was unconscious, I mean."
"You're saying me seeing you that way was like five dates?"
"So this is a date?"
Buffy smiled.
Ram smiled back.
There was a scream.
The crowd at the bar was in an uproar. Ram and Buffy searched for the source of the concern, running towards the commotion. The water fountain at the bar had changed. What was flowing out of the water system was now a neon pink color. The concoction boiled. One older lady was clutching at her arm. What was left of it. Her fingers had melted off, and her wrist was a boiling circle of meat. She was screeching in agony. Security guards grabbed her, and urged her away.
"She needs help!" Buffy shouted. She pushed forward through the crowd. "I'm a nurse. I can help. Let me through!"
One of the guards turned to her. "Stay back, ma'am. This is under our control. You'll be notified, if you're needed."
"There's no other medical personnel on the ship. I don't know what you're going to do for the poor lady. At least let me take a closer look at her. You have to—"
"Back off, lady!"
One guard raised his baton at her.
Ram grabbed Buffy by both arms. "Come on. I know how this will end. You know the story too. They won't hesitate to knock you out."
"Did you see that poor woman's hand? It's horrible. I have to help her. Why would they turn away my assistance?"
"I don't know, Buffy, but it's not wise to go up against them when we're unarmed. I already know that Ernie Pine asshole's got a plan for me. I'm beginning to think the people who run this ship are a bunch of psychos."
/> "What do you mean Ernie has a plan for you?"
Ram took Buffy by the hand. "I'll tell you somewhere private."
"How about my room?"
He let Buffy lead the way.
The poor woman's screams faded with each new step they tread.
Dead Body
Ernie Pine knew in this moment that his one-way trip to Second Earth wasn't going to be a smooth one. This pleasure ride had quickly demurred into an emergency situation. He stood beside Bryce Saxon in Gaby Reigns' room. The dead woman hung from a shower rod by the neck. Her stomach had been slit open, and her intestines fashioned into a pseudo-noose. Crimson crosses were drawn along the tiles and mirrors in the bathroom. Gaby had called in room service, and when she didn't answer the door, the call boy entered and found her dead. Ernie and Bryce were notified by security of the situation. Ernie had to see it for himself. He still couldn't believe someone had been murdered. Especially like this.
A psycho was on board, Ernie thought. Maybe several nut jobs. The end of the world could do strange things to people. He'd seen many people unhinged on this ship, but after a stiff drink or a handful of pills, they came back to themselves.
Not whoever did this.
Ernie was speechless.
Bryce knew what to do. He was alarmingly confident. "Call in Pathfinder 3000. Him and his boys will track down this menace and kill them with extreme prejudice. That's all there is to it. I thought we'd make it to Second Earth without any hiccups. I guess I was wrong. This kind of shit creeps me out. God freaks."
Ernie was rubbing his aching head. So many problems had cropped up at once. "Yeah, let's talk more about those hiccups. We're in serious trouble, even if we stop this character who murdered Gaby. What about the pink water situation? The pilots on the ship say our engine room is compromised. We're running on back-up power. They say the ship has four hours maximum before we run out of fuel. Then we drift in space aimlessly until the air gets used up, and this craft becomes a floating tomb."
