by Alan Spencer
This was the man from the introduction video to The Redeemer.
Dr. Dean Fleming.
The scientist spoke with a confidence that stole everybody's attention.
"I have something to show you in the back room. Once you understand what we're up against, then, and only then, can we start worrying about how we're getting out of this death box alive. I can't guarantee all of us will make it. Depending on how hard you listen to me, you just might increase your chances of survival."
Dr. Fleming turned, and headed to the back of the room. "Follow me, please. I know this has been a trying time. But you have to stay strong."
"Let's check it out," Ram said. "I want to know what this egghead has to say."
Everybody followed the scientist into the back of the room.
Alarming Discovery
Dr. Fleming did most of the talking, while Ram, Buffy, and Ernie did the listening.
The lockers in the middle of the room were marked with a strip of white tape. On the tape were the names of various persons drawn in with magic marker. The one that struck Ram the most was the name "Shrapnel". Buffy was about to ask where these people were, when Dr. Fleming cut her off.
"They're all dead. Died right when the flood gates opened. There's lower level security goons, and then there was these guys, who were supposed to be the hardest of the hardcore. They died outright. What a waste of personnel."
Ram was more interested in the fenced-in square at the other side of the lockers, and the tall casket-like box that was all tinted black glass. The gated square had tarps covering the walls. Ram could see indentions beneath, but he couldn't figure out what was being covered.
"We'll get to all that stuff later," Dr. Fleming said, following Ram's eyes. "First, I have to show you what I know. The more we know, the easier it'll be to fight back against those things out there. Because we're going to have to if we ever dream of getting off of The Redeemer alive."
They were near the back of the security room. This was a break room. There were beer cans on the sink, stubbed out cigarettes in ashtrays, and half empty bottles of hard liquor strewn on the floor.
"Globo Corps was confident our special security team wouldn't be necessary. There were lower ranking security who escorted you off of those ships who delivered you to The Redeemer before it launched, and these officers were designed to take out the serious life-threatening problems. If they occurred."
Ram scoffed. "You mean the type of threats with teeth and Bibles? Those kinds of threats?"
Dr. Fleming appeared to be ashamed of how things were handled on the ship.
"Yes, exactly. Those idiots were liquored up, overconfident, and not prepared to save anybody's life. They got themselves, and just about everybody else, on the ship killed. Who knows how many people are alive at this moment? Very few, my best guess. A better guess, it's just us now."
"Why did you bring us back here?" Ernie jabbed his finger in the doctor's direction. "You don't have to rub it in, Dr. Fleming. I know things went to shit, and it's Globo Corps' fault. I get that. Our company fucked this up. This was handled incorrectly. So what? What the fuck does it mean now? It's too late to take it back. You can't bring people back to life. Globo Corps can't do everything. Some things even money can't fix. Now let's move on. Please."
Dr. Fleming seized Ernie's pointer finger and twisted it backwards. "I get some things too, Mr. Pine. I know what you were planning to do with certain people on this ship before we landed on Second Earth. You sick son-of-a-bitch."
Ram stood next to the doctor. "I know for a fact he was going to kill me when we arrived there. Your friend, what's his ass, Bryce Saxon, was going to have me accidentally die. All because I'm Samoan. You guys planning a master race on the new planet? Should I call you Hitler, Mein Fuhrer?"
Ernie was pouring sweat and blubbering for his life. Tears and mucous downgraded the power-suited man into a diaper-filling baby.
"I'll tell you everything. Don't kill me. I'm so sorry. Please. You can't understand it unless you're on the inside of it. When you're talking about wrangling billions and billions of dollars from various persons, some people get to make decisions. Whether you agree with them or not, it doesn't matter. I wanted a seat on this ship. I wanted to ensure The Redeemer could fly us off of Earth and get us to a new and safe planet.
"The people at the top of Globo Corps wanted to improve our population. We're talking about having sixty-percent white, twenty-percent black, ten percent Latino, and ten percent other. Globo Corps had a guest list on this ship, and some were going to be allowed to have children, while others wouldn't. Those who wouldn't would have to be sterilized. Same with jobs, and roles in the new community. We needed a certain number of hard laborers, teachers, engineers, doctors, survivalists, scientists, you name it. It was all planned, and the guest list reflected that.
"What we didn't count on was the ferocity of which the earth burned. Many people didn't make it. But Globo Corps was willing to work with that, because we have some people already living on Second Earth. We'll be okay."
Dr. Fleming slapped Ernie across the face so hard that he tumbled to the ground with a sharp cry.
"You're leaving out the juicier tidbits of the story. One tidbit in particular. Tell it all, Ernie, or I swear, I'll break your neck right now and call it a day. I can take my chances with a pretty lady and a football hero just fine."
"Okay, okay," Ernie cried so much he was coughing. "Certain people would be killed when reaching the planet. It takes a lot to get The Redeemer in the air. You got crew working in the engine room. You got cooks, kitchen help, hospitality service, people cleaning your dirty laundry, and party hosts, and so many people who aren't on the list to make it to Second Earth. They were going to be taken care of once they reached the planet. I don't know how. Something humane, like food poisoning."
Ram growled, "Food poisoning is humane to you?"
"Look, I don't know how they were going to be killed. There's people on Second Earth who are representing Globo Corps' interest who deal with these kinds of tasks. They would do the killing, so-to-speak."
Dr. Fleming snarled. "They would do the cold-blooded murdering, you mean?"
"Yes, yes. Everything you say is correct."
Dr. Fleming breathed in and out to calm himself. "I worked for Globo Corps for decades, so I could visit Second Earth, and see its potential, and save lives. I was naive. This wasn't about saving humanity. It was about Globo Corps claiming humanity for their own interests. Just like America liberating Iraq. They only wanted their oil. Humanitarian efforts and big government don't mix."
An automated voice spoke on the intercom:
TWO HOURS UNTIL SELF-DESTRUCT MODE IS INITIATED. THOSE ON BOARD REPORT TO FLOOR ZERO FOR SAFETY PROTOCOL.
Dr. Fleming snapped out of his soap box moment. "We don't have time for this. I'm going to show you this real quick, and then we're going to get moving."
He reached for the table where a towel covered up a lump. Dr. Fleming removed the towel and revealed a baby lemon shark. Dr. Fleming had used a steak knife to slice open its torso down the middle.
"Very quick, you see the organs have been modified. You get larger large intestine and bigger small intestines. The heart has grown to twice its normal size. New teeth, stronger jaws, and an insatiable hunger for blood and meat have compelled these sharks to do anything and everything for food. I see dozens of digestive sacks. They're designed to eat and eat non-stop They'll never be satisfied. There are other new components I can only guess as to what their function is. One thing that troubles me is the thickness of their skin. It has quadrupled in thickness. I had such a hard time cutting this thing open to poke around."
Dr. Fleming then explained the process by which Globo Corps pumped water out of the oceans and how the marine life got mixed in. Then he veered right into the true cause of the shark attacks.
"When I visited Second Earth, I studied local plant and animal life. It's just like earth. It's a chip off the ol
d rock. But with one big difference. Oil.
"Instead of black Texas tea, when we took soil samples and accidentally struck pay dirt, out burbled this pink crude. The oil on this planet is very different. The creatures who lived and died on this planet during the age of dinosaurs must've been something beyond imagination. We haven't had the time to dig deep and search for fossils yet. That was supposed to come later on. But we got plenty of this pink stuff. It's an amazing substance. It burns clean.
"It turns out, Hydrolyne, as I call it, can fuel an engine a hundred times better than black oil. Globo Corps and their team of engineers were able to build an engine based on perpetual motion. You mix Hydrolyne with water, and keep both moving, and it acts like a super fuel. That's how we were able to build a super ship to take so many people off of Earth. The project was rushed, because the company's scientific team believed Earth was going to terminate itself any day now.
"Those sharks trapped in our engine were immersed in that pink stuff. Whatever capabilities the pink stuff owns, it's changed those sharks into the ultimate killing machines. They can survive out of water. They have the strength to move about without the aid of water, and they can move like bullets. It's clear they're dangerous. So we need to arm ourselves if we're going to get into one of those emergency ships on Floor Zero."
Ram's interest piqued. "What kind of weapons are we talking about here?"
Dr. Fleming's smile was a jackal's.
"Space weapons."
Arm Yourselves
Dr. Fleming threw the towel back over the baby lemon shark and guided them towards the fenced-in square. He opened the main door that was padlocked, and each of them entered. Dr. Fleming removed the tarp covering the main wall. A steel rack displayed an odd array of futuristic weapons. Each gun was similarly built. Ram imagined laser tag meets steel and polished blue barrels. Others had cylinders that carried ammo versus traditional clips. The biggest difference between the varieties of weapons were the colors. They were neon yellow, neon blue, neon red, and neon white.
"These look like little kid guns," Ram joked. "What do these weapons do exactly?"
"I just want off of this ship," Buffy said. "I want to breathe in fresh air and walk on grass. I'm tired of being surrounded by steel. Give me what you got, and let's get moving."
"We'll get you off of this ship," Dr. Fleming reassured her. "As long as you're willing to fight. You have to listen to my instructions. These guns do way more than fire a bullet. Most of them don't even fire bullets. That's why our top-notch security force didn't use them. They only wanted conventional weapons. They were macho hot heads. I say that was very stupid on their part."
"Just tell us what they do," Ernie insisted. "We're running out of time. That bitch over the intercom said we have two hours before this ship blows itself up. You point and shoot. How complicated can it be?"
Dr. Fleming checked himself. Ram could tell the scientist's patience was wearing thin. "I'm only going over this once. Each gun has a unique ability."
Ram listened as Dr. Fleming went over the gun's capabilities. The yellow handled guns were called "Displacers". They could take a living thing's molecular structure and rearrange it with gory results. "Pressurizers" exerted thousands of pounds of force on any one object and could crush and squash the enemy with alarming power. "Brights" sent a bright whitish-purple beam like a camera's flash in the direction and could fry the target with extreme heat. "Dehydrators" could remove every ounce of fluid from a target in five milliseconds. The others the doctor mentioned, he spoke in such a hurried manner, Ram couldn't keep track.
Put the gun in my hand, Ram kept thinking, and I'll do the rest.
Ram was worried about Buffy. She was exhausted, as were they all, but she had a certain emotional fatigue that could either work in her favor or stop her where she stood. He vowed to watch over her and get her safely off of this ship.
His eye was also on Ernie. The man's face was unreadable. His eyes were puffy from a long cry, but the man's inner thoughts remained elusive. Did he agree with Globo Corps' plans to kill innocent people, or was he a helpless cog in the machine? Would this greasy glad-handing schmuck remedy his mistakes?
Ram didn't know. Too much was happening too fast. There were so many threats; Ernie Pine would have to be dealt with later. If they made it to Second Earth, he would make Ernie answer for his crimes, because they were crimes, and if they were re-starting humanity, cold-blood murderers couldn't be allowed to slip through the cracks.
He had to do one thing before everybody chose their weapons. Ram grabbed Ernie by his tie and pushed him against a locker. Ernie closed his eyes tight, anticipating a punch.
"If you're ever going to live alongside good honest people, Ernie, you're going to have to prove yourself. Now's the humble beginning. You try anything, you'll never redeem yourself. You get how important the coming hours are to your future?"
Ernie's eyes popped open. "Yes, of course. I can apologize all day long, and it won't mean anything. I couldn't change things. Globo Corps is too big for me to do anything but obey their orders, no matter how criminal they are. The company turned into a monster, and I did too. I was helpless to stop it. I have to live with the blood of many on my hands. I only want to get off of this ship, save who I can, and if I'm lucky, start over."
It sounded genuine, but Ram still had his reservations.
Ram let Ernie go.
Everybody selected their special weapons.
He urged Buffy aside from Ernie and Dr. Fleming, who were both talking animatedly about something.
"I got your back. You know that, don't you?"
Buffy gave him the best smile she could. "I know you do."
Ram kissed her cheek. "You need to start believing it. We're going to make it. I'll stake my washed-up reputation on it."
That made her laugh.
Ram dug into his pocket. "I snagged a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from that break room. Why don't you have one?"
Buffy accepted the offer, and they were both smoking.
"You can talk all day about how you're going to save me, but smoking this makes me feel a lot better."
Ram enjoyed his smoke. "Look, if we make it, I'll promise you this. If we become an item when we reach Second Earth, you can eat, drink, smoke, and do whatever the fuck you want. That much I can promise. You're your own woman."
"You got yourself a deal, handsome."
Ernie and Dr. Fleming approached Ram and Buffy. Ernie guided them back into the fenced in box and had them stop in front of the tinted black casket that was propped on a steel platform. Ram imagined the casket to be a giant phone sitting on a charger.
"Now here's the ace up our sleeves," Ernie bragged. "Call this a down payment on a real apology. Things went to shit so fast, we didn't get a chance to use it earlier. It could've saved lives. But I guess we're far from being out of the shit just yet."
"And what is this down payment exactly?" Ram asked. "Another space weapon of the future? Maybe a Globo Corps brand douche?"
"No," Dr. Fleming said seriously. "Not a douche."
"Then what is it?"
Dr. Fleming's fingers dialed a series of numbers on a small panel on the front of the glass casket. There was a great air hiss of decompression. The front opened on a hinge. It wasn't until the series of blue and red lights blinked on that Ram could see what was inside, and Dr. Fleming announced, "This is the Pathfinder 3000."
Pathfinder 3000
Dr. Fleming couldn't hold back the awe and reverence of his creation.
"Now that he's fully charged up, we can use our special friend here. I'm talking about some serious ass kicking. I created this cyborg war machine from the body parts, organs, and brain tissues of eight soldiers killed in the line of duty. Only the best. The very cream of the killing crop. Surgery, transplants, nitrous power, super concentrated battery power, and the finest of cutting edge weaponry stands before you. Pathfinder is your best bet, people, if you want to keep your asses alive.
"It's designed to protect the innocent. That means us, people. It'll find anybody in trouble, locate them, and take out any threats from between here and Floor Zero. With this guy, we're going to survive this."
Ram was startled when Buffy clutched onto him. She was startled by the ripped two-hundred pound super soldier who stepped out of the glass casket. Ram imagined Duke from G.I. Joe. An action figure with a testosterone upgrade. The machine's cheeks were sucked in so hard Ram could see the indentations of his teeth. Its steel was painted deceptively like human skin. Its back bulged along the spine as if the cyborg had a giant battery stored there. The strangest thing was its giant fists for hands.
Pathfinder's voice was also discomforting. It sounded like a wholesome father talking about the birds and the bees to his son. Very much Ward Cleaver from Leave it to Beaver.
"You are safe with me, folks. I hear you've had a few scares tonight. Let me put those concerns to rest. Anything that threatens your lives, I will crush, kill, and destroy it. No exceptions."
Buffy gasped when Pathfinder stepped towards them. Each time the machine planted its foot, it sounded like a stomp. The thing had to weight a ton, literally.
The cyborg stood in front of Ram. "Hold still. I must scan you."
"Scan me? Huh? Wait a second. What?"
"Let him do it," Dr. Fleming said. "If the laser is disrupted, it could blind you."
