by S. A. Lusher
“Give me a minute,” Eve said as she set to work on it, trying to pull data from it.
Greg turned back around, staring the way they’d come. He studied the area, which was thrown into a sharp relief by the lights from the ship. Shadows lurked behind other vehicles that had survived being sucked out into space and some scattered crates. He wondered if there were Shadows in those shadows and he hunted around for glowing blue embers in the darkness. After several minutes, Eve let out a huff of frustration.
She began to speak, but then he saw it.
Those eyes. Two glowing blue eyes…
No. Four.
Eight.
Twelve.
“Contacts!” Greg roared as he sighted one of the Shadows across the bay and opened fire. The three-round burst hit it dead center in the chest and popped it. The thing dissipated into the air and it was like a cue for the others. They stopped lurking and broke into a dead sprint across the open space. In the hard, sharp clarity of the lights from the shuttle, they were horrifying to look at. Lithe, slightly trembling outlines of darkness in the shape of a human. Greg shifted aim and fired again, killing another one. Around him, the others opened up, putting them down. It was horrifying to watch the way they moved and died, just drifting away into the air like blood in the water. The absolute silence only made the experience creepier.
As the last one fell, they all looked around again, making sure they were alone. Once he confirmed they were, Greg spoke up. “What’s happening, Eve?” he asked.
“I can’t find any real information. All I have is a map of this deck, that’s it. We need to get into some kind of security center. If we can get to one of those, I should be able to hack in and get us some more pertinent information.”
“How far away is the nearest security center?”
“Not too far. Just out that door there, down a corridor, turn right, then at the end of another corridor. Easy, provided there’s nothing between here and there.”
“Yeah...all right, let’s go people,” Greg replied.
They formed up at the door. Greg hit the access button and the door slid open, revealing a length of metal corridor bathed in red emergency lights. Not all that far away, he could hear gunshots and hysterically shouted orders. They quickly got through the door and closed it to shut off the screaming flow of out-rushing oxygen.
“Sounds like they’ve got their hands full,” Jennifer murmured.
“Good. Makes our job easier,” Greg said.
They hurried down the corridor, moving in a quick, tight formation. Greg hit the edge of the corridor. They were getting closer to the gunfire, not farther. Sighing, he peered cautiously around the edge of the corner.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What?” Eve asked.
“Spec Ops guys shooting it out with Mutants,” Greg replied.
“We’ve got armor, we can bluff them,” Drake said.
“No,” Volker said immediately. “Everyone that is part of this fucking operation is intimately familiar with all of you. And me, obviously. Blackmore made sure they studied up. They’re going to know it’s you.”
“Shit,” Greg muttered. “Maybe we can reason with them. They are Spec Ops...not the usual mercenary scum...uh,” he glanced at Drake, “you know, no offense.”
Drake laughed. “None taken. Most mercs are scum.”
“Maybe...” Volker murmured. “But I doubt it.”
“Fine. I’ll give it a shot, be ready to back me up,” he said. The others responded positively. As the last of the gunfire fell silent, he called out. “Hold fire! Friendly coming in!”
There was a pause, then: “Identify yourself!”
Greg stepped out. “I’m Greg Bishop. I know you know who I am. I’m asking you, from warrior to warrior, not to shoot me.”
There were a good dozen Spec Ops warriors near the end of the main corridor. They’d just finished putting down the last of the Mutants and wow, did they look like shit: their armor was bloodied and burned in several places.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” one man said after a moment. “We’ve got a capture/kill order on you and your friends.”
“And there’s nothing I can do to talk you out of it? Do you even know what your psycho boss is up to right now?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t defy him.” The man sounded genuinely sorry. “I have to do this.” He raised his rifle. Greg moved fast then, raising his own rifle and snapping off a shot while quickly backing away, around the corner as a hail of gunfire peppered his position. He managed to get to the other side of the corridor, opposite where he’d started, so they would be able to have two firing positions instead of just one.
“Shit,” he snapped. “That didn’t work.” He pulled out a grenade, primed it and tossed it around the corner.
“Why can’t they defy his orders?” Drake asked.
“Dunno. I never figured out how he talked Spec Ops into this,” Volker replied.
“Well, damn,” Greg muttered.
He and Drake spent a few minutes taking potshots at them, but these were well-armed, well-trained, seasoned professionals. They only managed to take down two of them after five minutes, and nearly got their heads blown off in the process. Greg began thinking about alternative methods of dealing with these guys and he looked around.
His gaze settled on Genevieve.
“Genevieve, can you-”
“I’m on it,” she replied, turning and slipping away.
Well, that was easy. Now they just had to keep them busy. The pair continued opening fire, emptying two more magazines and only managing to take down another single Spec Ops trooper. Greg felt like shit fighting them, but Spec Ops or no, they were in between him and his objective, and right now, his objective was pretty damned important. They kept it up until, suddenly, the guards all let out a surprised shout, followed by a tremendous explosion. As the explosion died away, everything became silent.
“You can come out now, they’re all dead,” Genevieve said over the radio.
“That was fast,” Greg replied as they got up and headed down the corridor.
“Took the vents.”
They joined her in the security center, where she stood before a wall of monitors. Those that still functioned showed scenes of insane, bloody chaos. Greg studied them while Eve set to work cracking open the database and the others scrounged for ammo. Several minutes passed in bloody quietude, broken occasionally by a distant explosion or gunfire. Volker joined Eve in the search, helping any way he could.
Eventually, they gathered all the relevant intel they could find.
“Well this sucks,” Eve muttered.
“What is it?” Greg asked, joining her.
“Bridge is locked down, and it looks like that’s where Blackmore and Jericho are located. They’re holed up tight one deck above us. The only way to get in...” she laughed. “An old classic of ours: dual-lock system. Two of us need to be in different places, activating two different terminals at the same time. It looks like all the relevant stuff we need: unlocking the bridge, information on Saturate, all of that is two decks below us, on the Science Deck. The Military Deck is in between us, one level straight down,” she explained.
“We should go through the Military Deck,” Volker murmured.
“Why?” Greg asked.
“That rail gun of yours, I saw you still have it. We’re going to need it, I think. There are deadly things onboard that could be killed by it.”
“Like what?” Eric asked.
“The Serpents, for one.”
“Serpents?” Eve asked nervously.
“Yes, like giant rock snakes basically.”
“Ugh...I had to face down one of those. Never found a way to kill it,” she muttered.
“The rail gun will take care of them. I don’t know what else might be up here, but it would be very prudent to stock up,” Volker said.
“Fine,” Greg said. “We go down one deck, find the stash of ammo. Can we get a map of the
area?” he asked.
“Yes...hold on...” Volker murmured, running through the database. He managed to turn one up a moment later. “It looks like the rail gun ammunition is in a more specialized armory. But there’s another, larger, more regular armory a little ways away from it, too. We should probably pay a visit to both of them,” he suggested.
Greg sighed. “Fine, Jennifer, Genevieve and I will get the specialized ammunition, everyone else hit up the regular armory. How do we get down there?” he asked.
“There’s a service lift not far from here that can take us down,” Eve replied, indicating where it was on the map.
“Perfect. Let’s get it done.”
* * * * *
The Military Deck was a hellish, chaotic mess, mired in blood and death.
Greg, Jennifer and Genevieve moved down the first corridor they came to, wary of threats that might be lurking in the side alcoves or vent shafts. They were close to the end now. Greg could feel it in that vague, ill-defined sixth sense he’d been developing ever since waking up on Dis over a year ago. One way or the other, this was going to be over soon. He suddenly wondered if he would die here, on this ship at the edge of civilization.
He still didn’t really know how to feel about death.
In a way, it was a little appealing. It was an end to suffering, the cessation of misery. No more pain, no more loneliness, no more depression.
No more nothing, forever.
It sounded peaceful.
Well, he supposed it wouldn’t be peaceful because it wouldn’t be anything. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing after death. It was the hard end. Which was a good thing. That was comforting, honestly.
Up ahead, something growled.
Well, he still felt like being alive, so Greg shouldered his rifle and sharpened up. They came to the end of the bloodied length of corridor they were in. It terminated in the entrance to a barracks they had to make their way through.
The place was a fresh necropolis.
A slaughterhouse.
There had to be a good fifty corpses strewn across the tiled floor, and a whole squad of Harvesters and Mutants were hard at work on gathering up the bodies for conversion into Hives and propagation of the species.
Greg got things started by tossing a pair of frag grenades into the thickest masses of hostiles, then fell back with the others, letting the open doorway act as a natural bottleneck for the Altered. And it worked out pretty well. As the thunderclaps of the explosions fell away, a general roaring shriek went up and the survivors charged for the door. Greg, Jennifer and Genevieve were ready. They cut the rotting bastards down as quickly as they arrived. The Harvesters came first, fast and agile and horrible dog-things with tube-tongues that issued deep, disturbing growls. Their claws clacked on the tiles as they raced through the door.
Greg shot the first one through the head and even as it flopped to the blood-slicked floor, he shifted aim and fired again. He’d switched to single-shot and was putting every bullet to use. He put down another two, then aimed up as a Mutant stumbled into view. He punched a shot through its chest, dropping it and then putting down another three as they lined up for their daily recommended dosage of lead. Jennifer and Genevieve were sharp and lethal, dropping creatures faster than him. Genevieve especially.
She’d never really lost her assassin’s edge.
She was seriously fucking lethal.
Abruptly, no more Altered appeared. Greg let out his breath slowly and reloaded his rifle. They waited a few more seconds, but nothing appeared. He and the others moved past the sea of bodies they’d produced and came into the bloody barracks. As they passed through it, Greg couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had motivated the Spec Ops warriors to work with Blackmore and Jericho. Lies? Bribes? Threats?
Probably some combination of the three.
It was kind of hard to believe, though. Special Operations soldiers were tough, pretty much in every way that counted, and basically all of them he had met had been brave, determined and loyal. Moral, too.
What had made them put up with this?
They moved through the barracks, passed through another two corridors and finally came to the specialized armory. One big plus of the attack they’d launched: no locked doors! Well, except for the bridge. But damn was it nice not to have to fuck with any lockdowns or malfunctioning doors or codes or keycards. They could just go. Sadly, the armory looked pretty ransacked. There were a lot of open, empty glass cases and Greg couldn’t help but wonder what kind of interesting weapons might have once resided within.
He consoled himself with the fact that he managed to find three more rails for the experimental rail driver gun. Not much...but way better than none. Especially considering some of the horrors that they might have to come up against.
“All right,” Greg said, snapping the rail gun shut after loading it up, “we’ve got what we’ve came for. How are things going on your end?”
“We’re loaded up,” Drake replied.
“Perfect. Let’s meet back up and head for the Science Deck.”
Greg, Jennifer and Genevieve left the armory and pressed on, making their way once more into the howling darkness.
CHAPTER 14
–Terminate–
Greg tried to keep himself together.
It wasn’t easy.
His lethargy was getting to him, and he ached in a lot of different places. His back was killing him, his head throbbed dully and a slow agony was burning across his body, through aching muscles that had been pushed too far too many times just lately. He needed a break. A real one. But they were close. They were almost finished.
He just had to hold it together for a bit longer.
Easier said than done.
The lift holding the squad finished settling into place. The doors opened on a scene of destruction. Nothing new there. Greg took in the spray of blood across the far right wall, the two dead Spec Ops soldiers crumpled in heaps on the floor, the spent shell casings that carpeted the deckplates. He stepped carefully out, clearing left while Drake cleared right. The lobby beyond the service lift was clear, though it was obvious that the deck was still heavily contested territory. They could hear screaming, gunfire and roaring not all that far away.
“We should deal with the dual-lock system first,” Volker said. “And I’ve been thinking about it. I believe that once we unlock the bridge, I can key it to a security card, meaning that it will stay locked until we get there with the card, meaning no one gets in or out until we’re ready to deal with the situation,” he explained.
“Sounds great,” Greg replied, only half listening as he tried to determine if there were any hostiles nearby. “Same teams as before,” he said once he was sure they were clear for the moment. They’d managed to get a map of the science deck and study it enough to plan routes. “We get to the terminals and deal with the lockout.”
“Let’s go to work,” Drake agreed. “We’ll stay in contact. Good luck.”
“Stay safe,” Greg replied.
They stepped out of the lobby and found themselves in a lengthy corridor that was clear for the moment. They split up, each team heading in a different direction. They moved down the passageway and came to its end, then moved through a door that led them into the living quarters areas for the science personnel.
The place was wrecked.
Several doors that led into the small, cramped individual dormitories were broken open and everywhere Greg looked there was blood and overturned furniture and personal items scattered across the carpet.
“Can’t believe they had to live this close to the creatures,” Jennifer muttered. “I don’t think I could do it.”
“They must have known what they were getting into,” Greg replied.
“Some of them might have. Some might have been forced into it,” Genevieve said. “I can’t imagine that someone like Blackmore wouldn’t be above using such methods as blackmail or coercion.”
Greg grunted in reply, f
iguring she had a point.
How many people had been here against their will, cooking up another Dark Ops?
It didn’t seem like people would ever learn that this kind of shit was generally a bad idea. Up ahead, something let out a low growl. With a soft sigh of frustration, Greg took aim as a Mutant stepped out of one of the dormitories. He put a shot through its chest, but even as it fell, another two stepped out into the corridor with them.
“Contacts, six o’clock,” Genevieve reported.
The trio opened fire. The seconds bled into minutes as the dormitories complex came to awful, mutated life as Altered crawled out of their hiding places among the doors and other rooms in the area. For several minutes, there was only the sound of gunfire and roaring. Greg burned through a whole magazine, firing single shots into chests and heads with as much quick proficiency as he could manage. He ejected the spent magazine when it ran dry and slammed a fresh one in, then shot his way through that one, too.
All the while, the three of them edged forward, slowly, inexorably, towards the office complex that housed the terminal they were looking for to deal with the lockout. Greg’s body became a mindless tool, his thoughts and emotions and pain shoved to the side as he became wholly focused on the fast, frantic work of keeping himself and his allies alive amidst this sea of mutated flesh. Mutants appeared, fell and died to his bullets. Harvesters raced into the corridor and were put down with quick, decisive shots.
Two Guardians appeared and came too close to ending his life before they were mowed down. By the time they reached the entrance to the office complex, Greg had expended half the ammo he’d been given from the salvage operation run on the deck above and was covered in Altered blood. He looked around as he finished reloading, sweaty and shaking, but saw nothing. The large room that served as an ingress to the office area was vacant.
