by S. A. Lusher
Trent thought that strange, considering she and the other corporate dogs wanted the mercs to have as little contact with any terminals as possible. Not that it mattered, he surmised, as they walked down the body-strewn corridor. Any meaningful data was probably locked behind firewalls and password encryptions and all sorts of bullshit. Trent knew that he wasn't technically-minded in the slightest.
They reached the security center.
Trent opened the door, took a step in, then stopped. Drake shifted in past him, then stopped as well. They both stared for a long moment.
Finally, Trent activated his radio. “Uh...we found Sergio.”
“What do you mean? What happened?” Sharpe replied.
“He's...well, skinned,” Trent said.
There was a long pause. “Are you sure it's him? Is he dead?”
“He'd better be,” Drake murmured.
“Yeah, he's dead. And his armor is here. What's left of it,” Trent replied.
“Fuck. Anyone else there?”
“No, there's no one else in the room.”
“All right. Head over to the main terminal.”
Trent did as he was told. He spent a few moments running through the procedure of unlocking the door to the tram area, then raised this portion of the overall lockdown.
“What about power?” he asked as they headed back out into the main corridor.
“What about it?” Sharpe replied.
“Trevor said we only had about two hours before everything goes dead and we freeze.”
“We've only been in the facility about forty five minutes. We should be able to finish our job before then.”
“And the others?”
“They're expendable, now get back here.”
Trent opened his mouth to protest, then froze as he spied something up ahead, further on down the corridor, about halfway in between them and their destination. For a second, he thought it was another lizard man, but he quickly realized that the dimensions were all wrong. For starters, it was about a foot or so shorter.
It was dark in color...only it seemed to be lacking a head. It looked like it was roughly humanoid, and it was crouched on the ground.
“What...holy mother of fucking God, what the fuck is that?” Drake whispered.
“What's happening?” Sharpe asked.
Trent couldn't answer. His eyes seemed to be sliding out of focus, as though they couldn't comfortably look at what was being presented to them.
Slowly, the thing stood up. Even in the dim lights, Trent had a good view of it. The thing stood maybe five and a half feet tall. Its skin was dark and strangely reflective. It was, in fact, humanoid, complete with two arms, two legs and a torso. No head though. He'd been right about that. But that wasn't even the strangest thing of all.
Where its chest should have been, there was a circular hole with what looked like giant follicles of black hair growing from the inside of the chest wall, all of them pointed inward to meet in the middle. Otherwise, there was nothing there.
Trent and Drake watched in horror as the creature picked up an arm and fed it through the hole, in between the hairs. There was a distinctive hissing sound. What came out the back of it was just the bones, bleached white, picked clean.
They fell into a pile on the ground.
“Holy shit,” Trent said.
The creature turned, seemed to take notice of them and started running for them.
“Fuck!” Drake cried.
They both raised their rifles and opened fire. Both men emptied their magazines, blowing the creature into several pieces, spraying the ground around it with thick black blood.
“What the hell is happening? More lizard men?” Sharpe asked.
“No...” Trent managed, reloading with trembling hands. “Definitely not. Something wholly fucking different.”
Sharpe asked more questions, but Trent didn't feel like talking just then. He wanted out of this place. It wasn't meant to be inhabited.
He and Drake gave the new thing a wide berth as they passed its corpse.
Chapter 08
–The Tension–
“Are we really just going to leave them?” Trent heard himself ask as the tram left the station.
“Yes,” Sharpe replied simply, sitting in the little driver's area. “We are.”
“What about Trevor?” Drake asked.
“He knew the risks when he came out here.”
“You know, I actually don't think he did,” Tristan replied.
“Well, I really don't give a shit what you all think.”
“How would you like to be left out here? Gideon, Stephen and Trevor don't deserve that. Sergio might, because God and maybe your corporate exec board knows what he's done in his no doubt long, illustrious career as a corporate dog, but the others don't.”
Here, Sharpe turned around. Trent thought it interesting that she'd opted to keep the door between the cabin and the cockpit open this time.
“And I'm sure Gideon and Stephen are squeaky clean, right? Because mercenaries are known for being upstanding citizens.”
“We're honest about the shit we do.”
“Yeah, until the cops show up.”
“Corporate-funded cops.”
Sharpe stared at him for a moment longer, her mirrored black lenses as featureless and empty as insect eyes. After a long moment, she turned around. Trent afforded himself a small smile. He wondered if Sharpe had once been a mercenary. It seemed likely. What was her story? Why did she belong to a corporation now?
The tram trundled silently along.
“This doesn't make any sense,” Drake said after a moment's silence.
“What do you mean?” Trent replied.
“The creatures...there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to them. I mean, let's consider what we have so far. The lizard guys that have a hard-on for brains. It would have been strange enough by itself, but now we've got those...whatever the fuck those other things are. With the holes in their chests. God, those things are creepy,” Drake replied.
“We've only seen just the one of that kind,” Tristan said. “It could be unique.”
“You really want to go into the next building assuming that?” Trent asked.
Tristan frowned, then shook her head reluctantly. “No, I guess not.”
“To make matters stranger,” Drake continued, “we've also got a flayed guy. The lizard guys didn't do that, I think, they only seem to give a shit about brains. And those chest-hole guys apparently strip whatever they get their hands onto down to the bone. So what the fuck skinned Sergio?”
“Insane survivor?” Trent asked.
“I don't think so...”
“I guess I just don't want to rule anything out. Remember that job we took at that research outpost? We thought we were going in there to rescue the researchers from slavers or mercs or something, and it turned out they just went nuts?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Drake murmured.
“We should probably just keep our eyes open for anything, coming from anywhere,” Tristan surmised.
“Don't forget the vent,” Trent said, the memory suddenly coming back to him.
Tristan was looking at him curiously but Drake was nodding.
“When we were in the vent, there was something in there. Didn't get a good look at it, but it didn't feel like any of the things we've encountered so far. It might be the skinner.”
The tram came to a halt and cut off the conversation. Everyone stood up and readied their weapons. Trent opened the door. Immediately, he was forced into combat as a trio of lizard men, who had been digging into a pair of corpses' skulls, turned and let loose with a symphony of shrieks. Trent sighted the middle one and blew the top of its head clean off with a three-round burst. Its silver blood glinted in the dim light as it coated the wall behind it. The slim black body smashed to the ground as the other two rushed the door.
Sharpe, Tristan and Drake added their own gunfire to the fray and cut the pair down. They waited a mo
ment to see if anything else would come running at the sound of gunfire, but nothing did. The quartet moved out into the transition area, then opened the door to the tram station. Another pair of lizard-things waited for them. Trent and Drake put them down and finished making sure the room was secure, then turned to Sharpe.
“Well?”
“This building isn't built like the others. We'll need to pass through temperature control to get to the security center and the third lockdown,” Sharpe replied.
“I guess that means you get to take point,” Trent said.
He, Drake and Tristan stared at her and she stared back. Trent knew that the balance of power wasn't quite what it once was. They'd still follow her orders, because she still held the keys out of this place, but now she was relying on them to get her out alive, too. Although Trent hoped that one of them could get the ship operating and into orbit if they really put their minds to it. They both needed each other, though for how long was anyone's guess.
Sharpe just turned and set off across the room. Trent and the others followed. They stepped out into a short corridor that led them to broad double-doors. One door was slid halfway in, the other had been peeled back by some immense force. The light beyond the opening was poor and flickered ominously. Trent sighed.
Why couldn't it be easy?
Sharpe squeezed through the opening. When nothing immediately slaughtered her, the others followed. Part of Trent felt that they were all in this together, in fact, he knew they were, but another, angrier part couldn't help but feel that the corporate dogs shouldn't have kept them in the dark and that maybe, just maybe, Sergio got what he deserved.
He studied the room they'd come to. It was large, dark and full of steam. Massive pieces of unknown equipment lined the walls and the ceiling was practically made of pipes, all of them different sizes and colors. The equipment had been hit by the conflict that had ripped through the structure. It was punctured with bullet holes, bleeding occasional sprays of sparks and most of the screens were dead or registered only static.
“I'm amazed this place is still heated,” Drake murmured as he took it all in.
“We build to last,” Sharpe replied, heading deeper into the room, towards a door at the back.
They moved in between dark monoliths of sparking machinery. Trent could see a door near the back. Sharpe led them through it, coming to another narrow, claustrophobic corridor of cold steel and thin gray light. A lonely corpse haunted the corner, head almost ripped off, leaning forward to reveal the torn-open back and hollowed-out interior.
They moved past it and through the door at the opposite end of the corridor. Trent's mind wandered as he pondered where the others had gotten to. He felt decently confident that Stephen and Trevor were likely dead, but Gideon was one tough, grizzled son of a bitch. A genuine seasoned vet of the mercenary industry.
Whatever it was that had happened, he must be alive. Could he be headed back to the ship? Holed up somewhere out of the way, injured, trying to get into contact? A part of him felt that they were likely all dead, because of the radio silence.
They moved into another security center. Sharpe took a seat at the primary terminal while the others stood guard. A moment of silence passed, and then Trent felt a ripple of cold fear shudder down his spinal column. He became immediately aware of something watching him. He scanned the room and noticed the others doing the same.
“What is that?” Drake whispered.
“I don't know, but I feel it, too,” Tristan murmured.
Sharpe said nothing. Trent stared at the vents, the doorway, the shadows beneath the desk across the room. He could see nothing to indicate what might be watching him, but he was positive there was some kind of presence in the room. Something with all the ill intent of a malignant tumor that had been given sentience.
“Got it,” Sharpe said, standing up abruptly.
She shoved the chair back so hard with her legs it tipped over. Trent knew that she felt it, too, whatever it might be.
“What's watching us, Sharpe?” he asked.
She looked at them for a long moment, then, finally, “I don't know.”
Trent couldn't tell if she was lying or not. He wasn't sure which was scarier.
“Come on, we need to get to the fourth and final terminal and lift this fucking lockdown once and for all.”
She moved out of the room. The others followed.
* * * * *
Back on the tram again.
Trent was getting sick of the things. He put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This whole thing had just been one confusing situation after another. Monsters? Missing personnel? Cryptic corporate enigmas? It was, by far, the most interesting mission he'd ever been given. That thought stuck in his mind and he opened his eyes. A notion came to him, one with startling clarity that almost seemed like someone else put it there.
“Sharpe?” he asked, sitting up. The others looked at him.
“What?” she asked, not looking back.
“We weren't supposed to make it out of this mission, were we?”
Sharpe said nothing, but Drake and Tristan sat up a little straighter. They were all staring at her broad back now.
“Well?” Drake asked.
“I don't know,” she said finally, but her voice held no real conviction.
“Come on, spill it,” Tristan said.
Sharpe remained silent. Trent frowned as he sat back against the wall, considering the situation. His guts told him he was going to die here...or not long after they left the planet, if they even made it that far. Sharpe remained static, but everything from her answer to her stance told him that he'd guessed the truth.
Everyone that wasn't a corporate dog was meant to die on this planet. He wondered why not just bring a squad of corporate goons for back up and realized the answer right away: this was cheaper. Find five talented yet not-too-popular mercs, promise them shitloads of cash, have them watch your ass and get the job done, then just space them when it was over. They wouldn't have to shell out for hazard pay or to keep the goon's mouths shut.
It was genius, in a way.
And also pretty damned cold.
The tram stopped. The squad filed out, moving back into the little antechamber that divided the tram from the station.
When they opened the door, the raw stink of death stopped them even before they managed to catch a glimpse of what waited within. Trent felt his stomach slowly turn over, which was impressive, since he'd personally killed dozens of men in his life. He'd seen some pretty wicked shit, but seeing a room full of skinned corpses was pretty far up his list of nasty stuff. Trent took the first tentative step out into the tram station.
“Jesus,” he heard Drake whisper behind him.
There had to be a good dozen bodies sprawled out across the ground, all of them skinned perfectly. It wasn't just that chunks of skin were missing, it was that it was all missing. Trent had once seen someone in a holo-film grab a tablecloth and rip it out perfectly from beneath fully loaded plates, silverware, full glasses and a vase of flowers without disturbing any of them. He suddenly had a vision of someone doing that, but with a man's skin.
“What the fuck were you guys doing in here?” Tristan whispered, her voice coming out ragged as they slowly came into the room with Trent.
“Fuck...come on, guns ready,” Sharpe replied.
Their boots squelched loudly in the blood as they crossed the room. Besides the two normal doors, one on either side of the room, this one had a larger one at the back. Trent thought back to the quick briefing Trevor had given them. They had come to the command center. What lay beyond must be the research labs.
Sharpe hit the button to open the door, then shouted and threw herself out of the way. Hardly half a second later, a solid stream of gunfire came through the open doorway. Everyone tossed themselves to the side, barely managing to avoid getting shot. A second later, the gunfire cut off and the door slowly slid closed again.
�
��Automated defenses are up,” Sharpe said unnecessarily.
“Well...fuck. Now what?” Drake asked.
Chapter 09
–The Lockdown–
“Well?” Trent asked.
Sharpe had been silent for a long while, staring around the room, apparently trying to come up with some kind of plan. They'd already ruled out the most obvious choices: a pair of exits, one on either side. Sharpe said that there were drone guns hard-wired to those doors as well and anyone going through would be shredded.
Sharpe remained silent and still.
Trent looked at the others. Drake stood not too far away, mainly trying not to look at the corpses. Trent didn't blame him, he was having a bit of a hard time with it himself. He'd been around death and dead bodies before, but this was a bit extreme. Tristan, on the other hand, was doing the exact opposite.
She'd taken to kneeling and investigating one of the corpses.
“Find anything interesting?” Trent asked.
She glanced up. “Sort of. Whatever did this managed to take the skin off perfectly without damaging any of the muscles beneath.”
“Jesus,” Drake whispered.
“And I don't suppose you have any ideas on what did it?” Trent asked.
“No, not really. It could be anything, given what we've seen so far.”
“Anything,” Trent repeated.
If brain-eating black lizards and things with acidic holes in their chests and something apparently built to be the perfect flayer was on the table, then basically anything was, Trent supposed. What were the rules here? He had no idea, and so he could rule absolutely nothing out. How dangerous were these things going to get?
Could whatever was waiting for them beyond this point be bulletproof? Flameproof? Not need oxygen? Could they even die?
“All right,” Sharpe said. “I've figured it out.” She crossed to one corner of the room. “Gather round.”
The other three joined her. Trent realized they were standing around a well-hidden grate in the floor. Sharpe knelt, found a release and pulled the grate up, propping it against the wall. They all stared down into a dim hole in the floor.
