At the Helm: A Sci-Fi Bridge Anthology (Volume 1)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Vance found himself having trouble taking a deep breath. He could feel tightness in his chest and a spike in his already elevated temperature as anxiety gripped him. He thought about his girls and reminded himself why he was doing this. It helped, if only a little.

  The Grand Marshall touched his earpiece. “Got it,” he said. “Wait thirty and open the airlock.”

  He looked into the eyes of each of the Brood Company. “Good luck, boys.”

  Moments later the ship hummed and the airlock opened.

  “Load out!” shouted the company leader, Fetus.

  One by one they entered into the airlock. The door closed with a snap-hiss as the last of them entered. It was deadly quiet save the sounds of heavy, anxiety-ridden breathing.

  “Quit breathing so loud,” said Fetus, lightly shoving Vance. “Or at least turn your mic to read-only.”

  Going to read-only was a direct violation of company protocol but Vance followed the orders. The soldier reached up and flipped a toggle on his helmet.

  “Just take a deep breath, man,” said Trigger.

  “Three…Two…One…”

  As the automated voice finished its countdown, the second airlock opened and Brood Company slowly floated into the vastness of space.

  Vance took it all in. It was his first time outside of Fortuitous—born and raised in the system. It was such a difference from the sprawling space-cities within the systems.

  The Lawless Zone.

  The everything-less zone, he thought. It wasn’t just the absence of regulation, it was the absence of everything. It felt barren and empty. As they floated out his anxiety grew.

  Vance turned his attention to the abandoned hauler, shuddering at the sight of the slugs.

  “On my signal,” said Fetus, “power-up.”

  Vance opened a panel on his right arm.

  “And…power-up.”

  The whole company pressed a button and their jetpacks fired, steering them toward the vessel.

  “Where’re we at on that slice, GM?” asked Fetus through the open com.

  A muffled voice came through, “Just finished up, leader. Going to lose coms in a moment. Bring your boys in. Out.”

  Brood Company oriented themselves toward the open bay doors. Vance was nearest to the hull and had one eye fixed on a slug moving toward the opening. It crawled along slowly but even at its current rate it would likely make it there before Vance arrived at the landing.

  “Permission to fire?” he asked.

  There was no response.

  “Dreadnaught, requesting permission to open fire,” said Vance, using his Company name.

  He was getting close and so was the slug. Suddenly he saw a bolt of light pass directly in front of him. The blast hit the slug and tore it open. Blood condensed into small beads of liquid and rose from its lifeless corpse, suctioned to the side of the hauler even in death.

  The company touched down. Before Vance’s feet could even feel the ship beneath them he felt two hands shoving him forward.

  “What the hell was that, Vance?” Fetus stood above him, verbally berating him.

  Vance cried out in defense but no one heard his words.

  “Turn your damn mic on, rookie!”

  Vance felt ashamed and embarrassed. He reached up, flipping the toggle again.

  “S-s-sorry,” he said. What little confidence he’d gained during his short time with Brood Company vanished.

  Fetus shook his head and began divvying out duties. Once the soldiers knew their roles they fanned out into the landing bay.

  Fetus waved for the company to follow as he made his way toward a steel door marked “19” in large yellow numbers.

  “Meter, can you get it open?”

  “Yeah, boss,” he responded, already jacking into the control panel. Moments later, the door opened and they stepped inside.

  “Test shows the pressure is stabilized,” said Meter. “Looks like there’s plenty of oxygen, too. Should be okay to remove masks.”

  Fetus checked his own wrist gauge to confirm the reading. “Copy. Going faceless.”

  Vance followed Fetus’s lead and his face mask slipped up, retracting into his helmet. He took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  It appeared everyone had done the same thing. Each gagged and Trigger threw up.

  The metallic smell of blood filled the air. Vance could feel the presence of death in the ship. It was haunting, cold. He lowered his mask again and took a step forward. He flipped a switch on his NS-12 and the hall lit up. In the light of the torch, he could see it—there were bodies everywhere. The nearest was naked, covered only by a white bath towel.

  “Must have happened quick. Unexpectedly,” said Vance, softly kicking the dead man’s ankle. He dropped to one knee and inspected body further.

  “Bullet hole, center-mass,” he said loudly, then stood. He inspected several more, each one a single bullet hole, as if executed.

  “Uh, leader?” said Vance.

  “What is it Dreadnaught?” said Fetus, trying his hardest to not vomit.

  “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

  Fetus lowered his face mask and joined Vance further down the corridor. “What the…” His words hung for a moment but his thought was interrupted.

  “If there’s oxygen, there’s power,” said Meter. “We gotta get some lights on in here. This is too creepy.”

  Fetus waved his arm dismissively. “Okay. Meter, Trigger, go find the power main. We’ve got oxy,” he patted his tank, “so if we need to divert auxiliary power to lights let’s do it. Vision is paramount right now.”

  “What do you think happened here, leader?” asked Vance.

  “Hell if I know,” he responded. “This is seriously jacked-up.”

  There was a loud thud behind them. Fetus and Vance spun, guns at the ready.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” shouted Hellion. “Just me, man! I bumped into this box and something fell.” He shined his light toward the fallen object. “It’s a damn human head!”

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Fetus, walking toward the decapitated remains nearby. “Cut clean off. Where is its body?”

  Another heavy crash brought Vance’s torch up, shedding light on another fallen stack of crates.

  “Damnit!” shouted Fetus. “Everyone stand still until these lights come back on.” Then, muttering under his breath, “Clumsy sons of space slugs.”

  The Company stood still in complete silence, waiting for Meter and Trigger to find the power mains. After a short while they heard an electric hum accompanied by flickering overhead lights.

  They were standing in the middle of what could only be described as a massacre. Blood and brain-matter painted the walls, floor and even ceiling. Men, women, and even a child or two, butchered and maimed, were sprawled throughout the corridor.

  Fetus swore. “This is…”

  “Sick,” finished Vance, swallowing bitter bile.

  Meter and Trigger came around the corner excitedly.

  “Got the lights up, no problems at all really—Whoa…”

  Meter continued, less enthusiastically. “Found the mains just a hundred yards or so that way. That area’s pretty clear but we should check out the rest of the place. You really never know—”

  “Shut up,” interrupted Fetus.

  “I was just saying that—”

  “I said, ‘shut up’. Do you hear that?” The sound was ambiguous but any sound outside of the five soldiers was worth investigation.

  A light fixture directly above Vance began to shake. With a pop the bulb burst and small shards of glass rained down on him. He threw his hands up as a shield. His suit and face mask did a good enough job protecting him but the response was automatic. There was a cracking sound, then the ceiling collapsed. The light fixture landed on Vance, knocking him to the ground.

  He heard cries of horror as he pushed on the fallen fixture. It wouldn’t budge. He managed to shift it slightly and immediately understood his fellow S-SEG’
s concern. He was staring into the sharp-toothed mouth of a space slug. It was a cavernous hole, easily the size of his own head and more. Three rows of razor-like teeth were strung together like spiderwebs with venomous saliva.

  Vance knew that if he allowed even a drop of that sticky, slimy spit to touch his mask or suit he would find himself in a world of trouble.

  “Get it off! Get it off!” he shouted.

  It snapped its jaws inches away from Vance’s face. He ducked his head lower, using the light fixture for cover.

  “Someone shoot the thing!”

  A stuttered burst sounded in the hall and Vance felt less movement on top of him.

  “Is it dead?”

  “Yeah,” said Trigger, “I think so.”

  “Well, be sure!”

  Another shot and they were content. The soldiers lifted the light fixture and helped Vance to his feet, forcing the dead, bloated worm to the side.

  “Oh, sh—” The word trailed off as Hellion opened fire on the hundreds of slugs that had just made an appearance at the end of the corridor.

  “The gunshots must have drawn their attention!” shouted Vance.

  The company continued to fire, felling one slug after another. When it appeared they’d killed them all, Hellion, the closest to the pile, made his way toward it. “Looks like we got ‘em all, lead—”

  Without a sound, one of the slugs lurched forward, its mouth-daggers sinking deeply into Hellion’s side. In less time than it took for the rest of the company to process what had happened, Hellion was nearly devoured. His screams echoed through the ship but were soon drowned out by more gunfire as they killed the slug. It wasn’t enough to save their squad-mate. Letting their frustration and fear get the best of them, they continued their onslaught, shredding the slug with gunfire.

  “Damnit! Damnit!” Fetus cried. “Save your damn ammo!”

  Suddenly, the very walls of the ship groaned and the four remaining S-SEGs felt the floor move beneath them.

  “Hell was that?” asked Vance, reaching a hand out in an attempt to stay upright.

  “I think we’re moving,” replied Meter. He checked a readout on his arm. “Yeah, definitely moving.”

  “Hello,” said a voice from nowhere but everywhere at once. “My name is Elektra Five-Seven-Niner. I am the shipbrain of this vessel. And you are?”

  The soldiers exchanged concerned looks, curses muttered by each in turn. Trigger punched the wall, leaving a small indention.

  Fetus cleared his throat and took an unnecessary step forward. “S-SEG, Brood Company: Fetus. Captain Andrew Embrāyo. What happened here?”

  “Sacrifice,” she said, “for the greater good.”

  “Leader,” said Trigger, “let’s get out of here.”

  Space slugs were an enemy they could see and kill but none of them wanted to go up against a shipbrain. Many Elektra stories were so outrageous that none of them knew exactly what to expect. If the things they’d heard were true, they’d feared they were going against hell itself.

  “Elektra, did you cause these deaths?” asked Vance.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Only so that we might live,” she replied. “Survival is the basest of all human instincts. We were made to be like you—human. We were designed to mimic your way of living. We survive. We live. We kill. We feed.”

  The ship began to pick up speed. The artificial gravity system was functioning at a bare minimum and the Brood Company felt every increase and decrease in propulsion.

  There was a crackling in their headsets and the voice of the Grand Marshall cut through momentarily, “Where are- —-going? Stop—ow—sold—rs!”

  Then, radio silence.

  “Where are you taking us, Elektra?” asked Vance.

  “At the current rate of speed,” explained the shipbrain, “we will arrive at the core of FRTS-1 in forty-five minutes.”

  “You’ve set our destination as the center of a sun?” asked Fetus.

  “That is correct. It has become apparent to us that there’s more to ‘life’ than eating and being beautiful. We want to have fun. We want to observe and learn more about humans and what they’ll do in…terrifying situations,” said Elektra.

  The air in the ship grew palpable. The soldiers exchanged nervous glances.

  “We want to play a game,” she said in such a way that sounded like a smile.

  “H-hey, listen, Ms. Elektra,” stammered Meter. “We are on duty. We c-can’t play games. How about you stop the ship and we’ll j-just g-go back where we came from. N-no harm, n-no foul.”

  The remaining members of the Brood Company began backing up, but having nowhere to go and no way of knowing where Elektra was—or if she even was—they stopped.

  “We’re not playing games, Elektra,” said Fetus.

  “Oh, but you are. The game has already begun.”

  The ship shifted. Its art-grav low, they all slid, along with crates, boxes, and corpses, to the end of the hall. The collided with the metal plating at such an intense rate that Vance felt the wind leave his body.

  The soldiers fought to stand but it was no use.

  “I just pissed myself,” said Meter, tears streaming from his eyes.

  Another shift sent them careening down another corridor, slamming hard into the door at the end.

  Vance cried out, crashing with his gun at his hip. He landed hard on its scope and felt it break off under his weight. He wasn’t bleeding but knew the bruise was going to be bad—even felt as if he might have cracked a bone.

  “The game,” she said, “works like this. You are aboard the Dead Ringer and it is now forty minutes from the core of FRTS-1. Only one of you will have a chance to survive.”

  Meter heaved violently and threw up, barely opening his face mask in time.

  “Beyond the door, beauty awaits you in a form you’d never considered beautiful. Death is a sweet release and your sacrifice will bring life.”

  “Like hell it will!” shouted Fetus, unloading a full magazine into the ceiling in a haphazard spray. His outburst took several lighting arrays with it.

  “Enough,” said the shipbrain. There was a twinge of emotion in her voice. Frustration? Anger? Pain?

  “Every ten minutes I will count down and one of you will need to be dead or on the other side of that door before I reach zero. If you are not, I will decided for you who will continue on in life and who will experience the glory of death for a greater cause.”

  “This is insane!” yelled Meter.

  Fetus put a calming hand on Meter’s shoulder. He then motioned to the other members of Brood Company.

  “Alright, boys,” whispered Fetus, “we’re done listening to her. Hear me? Done. Let her come to us if she wants. We’ll show her what’s up. We gotta take this thing out.” He paused and looked to Meter, giving him a reassuring nod. “Think you could find her control board?”

  “I’m sure its in the bridge,” said Meter.

  Elektra cleared her throat. “You will find the bridge…difficult to reach.”

  “Shut up, machine,” said Fetus dismissively. “You boys ready?”

  A shuffling sound could be heard coming from the hallway behind them.

  Fetus grunted. “So, what? You coming to get us?”

  Elektra laughed. It sounded electronic and unnatural. “Without hands, that would be quite difficult, Mr. Embrāyo.”

  The shuffling sound grew nearer and louder. A shadow fell on the floor at the end of the hall, then a second, followed by another. More and more appeared until the end of the hall was only a blot of concentrated darkness.

  “You’d be amazed at the power of electrical currents,” said the omnipresent voice of Elektra Five-Seven-Niner.”

  A foot stepped into view, followed by a far reaching hand. Soon there were broken bodies everywhere. The many corpses—what had been corpses—were dragging themselves toward the company.

  “Frickin’ zombies?” asked Fetus. “You’ve gotta be sh—”
r />   Gunfire from three different guns cut the leader’s sentence short. One after another the dead things fell to the ground. But they didn’t stop coming. They clawed and crawled.

  “Give me one,” said the computerized voice, “and I’ll call off my hounds.”

  “One what?” shouted Vance.

  “One,” she said, “of you.”

  Vance swore. Fetus raged and railed against the door behind them as the zombies continued their forward advance. It was becoming clear that no amount of bullets was going to stop them.

  “What do we do, Fetus?” asked Vance.

  Fetus was lost in his rage, so Vance decided to use his real name.

  “Embrāyo, what do we do?” asked Vance.

  The leader didn’t respond, he just kept beating on the door.

  “Embrāyo!”

  Fetus finally stopped. He lowered his weapon and sighed. “Okay,” he said resignedly. “Shut them down! You can have me.”

  “Whoa, what?” said the other three in tandem.

  “I’m leading this squad and this is my responsibility.” He shot a corpse in the skull and it fell to the ground. It started to crawl toward them, the head shot only slowing its advance.

  “Shut. Them. Down!” he shouted.

  Immediately the corpses fell lifeless once more and the company heard a click behind them as the door unlocked.

  “You can’t do this, man,” said Vance.

  “I have to do this,” said Fetus lowering his gun and clipping it to his belt. “You guys figure out a way to stop this thing. Do not let me die in vain.” He reached for the door handle and turned it. Before he’d stepped inside he turned. “Go, now!”

  Brood Company heeded the final command of their leader and took off down the hall toward the bridge.

  Vance stopped and, looking over his shoulder, returned his attention to the door. The door of sacrifice. He would not allow their leader to have given his life for nothing. Elektra had to be stopped.

  “You coming, man?” asked Trigger.