by Alan Spencer
"The way you talk sometimes, Ernie. You could tone it down a bit. You're talking in front of a corpse."
"Oh, Mr. Morality over here. We're not exactly innocent. Our plan involved some serious blood spilling later on. Still might, actually."
"Shut your mouth. Yeah, okay, I'm evil. But my evil is a necessary one. Gaby's death...was more of a recreational thing. The get off on it kind of thing. I'm doing this for sound reasons. Survival. Improvement. The future. All of that. I'm not crazy. I don't jerk off to this shit!"
Ernie almost laughed at Bryce's defensiveness. "I helped you make these decisions, so whatever you are; I'm the same exact thing. You don't have to justify yourself to me. They're waiting for us to make a decision on what to do next, up in the pilot's quarters. What should I tell them? Declare an emergency?"
"The plan's the plan," Bryce said. "Nothing has changed. Except the way we get to Second Earth. There was always a Plan B. We don't declare an emergency. We contact those we planned to actually de-board this ship from the beginning, and we get them to safety. Everybody else that's expendable, they can take this on however they like. They're on their own. First thing, this killer has to be found and taken out."
"Of course, sir. I'll call Pathfinder 3000."
Ernie and Bryce stepped into the hallway to discover the two security guards standing outside the door were dead on the ground. Each had slashes bleeding across their throats. There stood two men in street clothes beside the bodies. Each of them had red crosses of blood painted on their foreheads.
"We are here to guide you to true salvation."
"Step into the arms of the lord."
"Blood for blood."
"A pound of flesh, for a pound of flesh."
"The Red Revolution is here."
Bryce was blasted twenty-five times with an M-16. It happened in seconds. Bryce's feet left the ground. He was thrown back eleven feet. When he landed, the man was already a dead, pulped out mess with horror blaring out of his still open eyes.
Ernie retreated to the nearby elevator, pumped the button to close it, and thanked God when it shut. He somehow managed to outrun the two crazed killers.
He missed death by a fraction of a second.
Ernie knew death's shroud would try to cover him again very soon.
He used the phone next to the elevator buttons to call that very special person.
Pathfinder 3000.
Moment of Calm
STAY IN YOUR ROOMS. PLEASE FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS FOR YOUR SAFETY. DO NOT LEAVE UNTIL OTHERWISE NOTIFIED. FOR YOUR SAFETY, PLEASE FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR ROOMS.
The automated voice announced this over the intercoms spread out among each of the guest's rooms. Ram listened to it and couldn't help shaking his head in concern. Buffy was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. She was going to collapse against the stress of the situation if he didn't do something.
Ram needed words to comfort her. People always expected him to take action and to have the answers. Even back in the days when he was a professional quarterback, if they lost a game, if a play failed, or if their team wasn't an efficient point-scoring machine, the blame was all put on him. The quarterback.
Leadership was the word. Keeping it together, being another. He didn't have the luxury of tears or emotions until the game was over.
And this fucked up game was only the beginning.
Ram decided to lay it out on the line.
"Ernie Pine and Bryce Saxon plan to kill me before we land on Second Earth. I'm not supposed to be here. I pretended to be unconscious in the infirmary, before you arrived in the medical ward, and I heard those two ass clowns talk. They were going on about how I was Samoan, and I would mate with all the women, and throw a wrench in their plan. They talked about me like I was some kind of an ape.
"Those two are crazy. They want to control the future. Who would've thought when the world ended, there'd still be an evil corporation running things?
"They said my death would look like an accident. I was to lift the morale of those on board during the ride, and once we got there, I'd punch in my final ticket."
Buffy's eyes were swollen with tears. Nothing he said was making her feel better.
"Okay, I'll try this again. I'm sticking with you, Buffy. Whatever happens. I don't want you to get caught up in the crossfire when they come gunning for me. I can hide on the ship somewhere. I'll find you later. But I'll stay with you as long as you want me here. I'll do what I can to keep you safe. I don't want you killed because of your association with me."
Buffy gave him a high pitched cackle and couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, you'll keep me safe, huh? Yes. Of course. A man. A football hero. Your machismo will shield me from fire hot enough to melt you down to liquid. You'll block that pink liquid that melted that poor woman's arm earlier from sizzling off my flesh? Your cock will block certain danger from touching me. Oh mighty cock! Bow down to your fleshy edifice!"
"That's not what I mean, Buffy. Goddamn it. This isn't a testosterone dance. I care about you. I know we only just met. I consider you a friend. I want you to survive. I don't want you to get hurt because of me."
Buffy's mania didn't relent.
"You want what's best for me, because you care for me? Is that it? You want to save me, so I owe you, and you can control me later on? No thanks, Ram. Forget it. You can keep everything you have to offer me."
"No, Buffy. I'm only saying I want you to be safe. You owe me nothing. I am your friend. That's it. I swear to you. I don't know where you're coming up with this other stuff. You're wrong about me."
Buffy's eyes changed. They were moving fast back and forth. She was working through something toxic and hurtful. She pulled out a cigarette, struck a match, and pulled on it hard.
"You sound like my late husband. He said what he did was all in the interest of protecting me. He knew what was best for me. That implies I don't know what's best for myself. I'm not a fragile thing. I'm a woman. I'm not a child.
"My dead husband used to be a nice man. I met him in college. He later became a Beverly Hills surgeon. One of those surgeons of the stars. Lips, breasts, ass, tummy tucks, you name it, he could do it, and he got paid handsomely for it.
"We had a strong marriage for the first couple of years. That was until he starts spouting that horrible end of the world nonsense. Everybody's been on edge with the talk of it hitting the news, but some people go over that edge. Everybody was saying pollution, global warming, the thinning of the ozone, and how all of it had finally caught up with us.
"There's no real explanation for the Earth burning up. If there was somebody who could explain it, they're probably dead now. But the change in my husband was alarming. He wasn't himself. He had rich friends who were pumping ideas into his mind. I knew this when I found the Globo Corps pamphlets in his study. I wasn't supposed to go in that room. I didn't care. I was losing the man I loved, and I had to do something about it.
"The pamphlets were about buying real estate on Second Earth. Globo Corps offered to save you from the nightmares of the apocalypse if you invested so many millions of dollars to their cause. There were pictures of hovercrafts, and how they'd mail you a silver blanket to protect you from the fire and acid rain. Then those bulky plastic watches. They are tracking devices.
"There were facts about approximately when the Earth would destroy itself. It's scary how on the money they were about that fact. Our government couldn't pin it down, but Globo Corps could, with their mega money and insane resources.
"Globo Corps sounds like a scary giant," Ram said. "I know very little about them, and being here on this ship, they already give me the creeps."
"Creepy is a good word. This was the first I knew of my husband's interest in Globo Corp, and Second Earth. The information was so...fantastic. I was terrified reading it. These people sounded like fanatics, and that's what they are.
"I dug around in my husband's office and located receipts and paperwork. He had lots of investmen
ts in the stock market. He donated well over ten million dollars to Globo Corps. Maybe more. I never knew exactly how much money he threw at them. But that's not the worst of it.
"He had pictures, drawings, weight, diet details, and vitals on me. He must've put my doctor up to getting that information. I was a slab of meat. Every inch, crevice, and cavity was explained in fine detail in this thick manila folder. Imagine a physical in drawings, pictures, charts, and all the gory details."
"Why would he have all of that info on you?"
"It turns out my husband had sent these, and more, to Globo Corps for processing. They want to start over on Second Earth. Globo Corps wants women. Not just any women, but hearty women who bleed the richest milk from their tits. Women who can give birth to dozens of children. Women who can pass on the finest genes, hair color, eye color, you name it. Globo Corps enjoyed my portfolio so much, they guaranteed us two tickets on The Redeemer.
"My husband caught me rooting around through his things one day. He flew into a rage. It was the first time he ever hit me. This wasn't just a slap. He beat me until I was bleeding. He said I had to go on a special diet. He wanted me to keep my weight down, take all of these crazy vitamins, and run so many miles a day. He said if I told anybody about Globo Corps, or tried to leave him, he'd kill me, and my family. I was scared of him. He would follow up on everything he said. I knew he wasn't lying.
"After a month or two of this harassment, I was determined to leave him anyway. Then the ground starts spewing fire. Before we can be picked up by those hovercrafts, my husband falls into a hole into the ground, and he lands in a pool of hot magma shit. I'm still saved, and they wanted to use my skills as a nurse on the ship. I agreed. But I know once we're on that planet, they expect me to open my legs and pump out baby after baby. I won't do it. I'll hide from them. I'll kill myself."
"No," Ram snarled. "You won't kill yourself. I'll help you hide from them. I don't want to be a part of their plan either, and they don't want me anyway. My Samoan blood would taint their gene pool. They can go fuck themselves. I wasn't offering anything to those bastards. I wouldn't give them my semen if they put a gun to my head."
Buffy remained cold, and that distant look in her eye proved she was sinking deeper and deeper into herself.
"There's no saving anybody, Ram. You mean well. Everybody means well. But you're nothing against Globo Corps. They hold the cards. They are the cards. They're...everything. Try and survive, Ram. That's all there is."
"Just let me try to help you, okay? Enough of this dark bullshit. We're not surrounded by fire anymore."
"Yeah, we're not. We're just up in space, surrounded by nothing. This ship is a trap. This is really it. The end. Nothing will be the same. Everybody I once knew is dead. The future is as uncertain as it gets."
Ram held her close. "It's overwhelming. Everything is terrible. You can't erase this tragedy. All you can do is...keep on. Be grateful for every moment of life you get. Many didn't get that luxury back on Earth. We're fortunate."
Something new gleamed in Buffy's eyes.
"You're right. We're very lucky."
"You have to take advantage of every second you get," Ram continued. "Live life to the fullest. It might sound like a bunch of self-help crap, but it's true. I had a big tragedy in my life occur too, and that's what I learned. Take advantage of our second of life you have, no matter the circumstances."
Buffy held Ram's face with two gentle hands.
His words were finally connecting with her.
She whispered to him, "I want you to make love to me."
Part Four: Hungry Sharks
Pilot's Quarters
The ten person crew piloting The Redeemer knew they had their backs against the wall. The Engine Control Room was compromised. The bloody video feed proved that much. Mooch was murdered by a band of religious crazed marauders, and Joslin, that bitch traitor, was a part of the attack. However the religious group snuck onto the ship, they wanted everybody on board dead. And that was only the beginning of their problems.
Gregory Hawker, the lead pilot, faced his crew and knew doom was looming over them. The ship's oil, the pink stuff, was flowing into the fresh water pipes and plumbing. The chemical was cycling throughout the ship. And whatever sea life had been sucked up by Globo Corps' band of assholes was loose among the guest quarters.
The question now was damage control. With the fuel spreading about the ship the way it was, there was no way of replacing it. They were currently running on back-up power. Battery cells, actually. Those would last fours hours, tops. The ship wasn't going to make it to Second Earth. Without fuel, the ship would drift aimlessly until they ran out of air.
There was still a chance somebody could make it to Second Earth. The emergency ships could take a limited number of people to safety. Hawker believed he could lead an organized effort to rescue as many people as possible and do just that.
Whatever the outcome, Hawker couldn't stand by and watch his fellow pilots cry like babies wearing shit-stuffed diapers.
"Okay, wipe your asses. We're not dead yet. We've got a job to do. The people on this ship are counting on us to make good decisions. Humanity doesn't stop here. Not if I got something to say about it.
"That pink shit is highly toxic. It'll melt you down. But if it's diluted down with water, it won't be as harmful, as long as it's not ingested. I can turn up the water pressure. It'll make the water escaping from the burst pipes flow in higher quantities. We'll have some rivers and streams on the ship. It's all to buy us time. Whoever opened the flood gates in the engine room wanted this to happen. So we'll work with it.
"I'm putting this ship on auto pilot. I'm also programming the emergency ships to fly out to Second Earth once they're engaged. The people are going to be panicked. Tell them to pile in those emergency ships, shut the hatch, and they will automatically start a course to Second Earth. Easy as cooking a frozen dinner in a microwave.
"Everybody else, I want you to round up the passengers and direct them towards the Floor Zero port."
"Not everybody's going to fit on those emergency ships," one of Hawker's subordinates said. "What do we do then? They'll already be freaking out. It'll be chaos."
"Not everybody's going to make it from Point A to Point B. You've got those religious psychos parading about the ship, that pink melty shit dripping everywhere, and man-eating sea creatures. Don't worry about that problem. Just get people moving to Floor Zero. Whoever makes it in one piece will have the honor and distinction of living on Second Earth.
"I will make the announcement over the intercom that we've got an emergency situation on our hands. Now everybody get moving. Get your heads out of your asses, and go save some!"
Hawker's crew hurried to their appointed tasks.
After setting The Redeemer on auto pilot, and turning up the water pressure in the plumbing, the control panel burst into flying sparks and chunks of broken screens and computer boards. Before Hawker could react, a tiger shark's mouth surged through the panel. The shark chomped on his arms up to the elbows.
Hawker fell back with two spurting nubs for arms. Before he could feel the pain, the same shark was lifted from the control panel by a burst of faded pink water. The tiger shark's dark eyes focused on Hawker. Those jagged teeth, so numerous, so long, so sharp, so hungry, so mutated, closed in for the kill.
The deadly mouth swallowed him whole. Hawker's body was twisted upside down, right side up, as working muscles forced him down the monster's throat.
When he landed in the shark's belly, Hawker splashed into a purple-black pool of water. Half digested bodies surrounded him. Some people were intact and alive. Hands grabbed for him. Bodies drew Hawker close to them. They were embracing him for comfort, for the process of being digested alive in the shark's belly was excruciating, and ever so slow.
Hawker prayed for death.
His prayers were eventually answered.
What's Cookin'?
Juan Hernandez was very fami
liar with fine cooking. He had been head chef at a variety of five star restaurants. Only the best and premiere cuisine. Juan was confident in his culinary abilities. His team, whoever Globo Corps had dug up in a hurry, were a bunch of hot shot wannabes. Some were solid workers, but when over half of your staff were worthy of scooping shit onto a plate at some cheap buffet, the final product suffered.
Juan's headache hadn't stopped since the world burned up. He lost everything, including his family, his house in Beverly Hills, and his restaurant. Now, he was worried about losing his sanity. He stood in the fridge alone to gain a moment of clarity. When his restaurant was busy, or when he was short-staffed and overwhelmed, it wasn't uncommon for the cooks to take a moment in the fridge or the freezer to scream, shout, and vent their frustrations. Juan had stood in the fridge long enough that he was starting to shiver.
The headache was still there, but the anger in him had ebbed. He could keep doing this. This job, this opportunity, even without his family, meant he could lead future generations into the new world. He could help teach people how to live life right. Second Earth was the biggest opportunity known to any man, woman, or child, and Juan was going to do something special with it, whether it be on a skillet, plate, or menu.
Juan charged out of the freezer with new energy.
"Okay people, we've got dinner service coming up soon. Our passengers are hungry. They've seen horrible things. We're here to take their minds off of their problems. We've got our hands full, but I'm here to help. We can do this!"
