by Guy Morpuss
Location:
ISS Makaira
•
I am standing in the darkened cargo hold of the ISS Makaira, which is spinning out of control towards a black hole. The hull has been breached. The crew has been killed by a group of alien terrorists – white-skinned creatures with six-inch claws and pointed teeth that they use for extracting human brains. They are protesting the subjugation of their home world, or their religion, or something. I had skipped over that bit of the briefing as their motivation for eating my brain doesn’t seem particularly important.
I am wearing a black spacesuit with various guns and grenades hanging off me. Gravity has failed, and the only things keeping me on the deck are my magnetic combat boots. Which is ironic, as in thirty minutes we will have more gravity than we can possibly handle, torn apart as we are dragged into the black hole. There’s me and a team of four marines, brought here in a last-ditch attempt to save the ship. I hear a roar behind me as our landing craft exits through the closing cargo doors. No escape. No going back.
I sigh. This is pretty dull stuff. Clichéd. I have fought this sort of scenario a hundred times. When will they get more imaginative with their writing?
I shake my head. That’s not what I need to be focusing on right now. I’m not here to critique the quality of the game.
Bird and her team will be approaching the bridge from the opposite end of the ship. Whichever one of us gets there first will save the ship, stop the fall into the black hole, and win the game. Whoever comes second will die in some convoluted and unlikely plot twist. They always do.
We will move much faster if we can restore gravity. I am guessing that, unrealistically, it is possible to do so in my half of the ship without also helping Bird. It’s lazy writing, but that’s how these things normally work.
I look around. There is a door to my right with a sign saying to engine room. That seems the most likely place to have to go to fix the gravity problem. I signal for my team to follow, and clump over to the door. I can’t see their faces behind their helmets, and I don’t really need to. They are cyphers, cannon-fodder who will die before we complete this. I decide to name them 1, 2, 3 and 4. I’d really like 3 to die first.
I swing the door open and gesture for one of the marines to dive through. He (or maybe she) does so. I half expect them to be torn in two by a laser beam or a six-inch claw, which is why it never pays to go through first. However, it seems that this time they have a more imaginative death in mind for my cannon-fodder and we all pass through unscathed.
A long corridor stretches out ahead, dimly lit by red emergency lighting. It looks safe enough so I take the lead. A minute later we come to a large door with ENGINE ROOM stencilled on it. I push the button to the left of it and the door hisses open. I gesture for the marines to go through.
As Marine 1 does so a thin white alien drops from the ceiling and rips his head off. Blood pumps out, a mass of floating droplets in zero gravity. Scientifically inaccurate, but it looks neat. At least they got the effects down. The remaining three marines blast the alien while I spin around and shoot the other two creeping down the corridor behind us. Classic ambush tactics. I’ve done this a million times before. I suppress a yawn.
I duck under the widening pool of floating blood and into the engine room. I sweep the room but there is no sign of anything else hostile.
The room is a tall cylinder, with a driveshaft running up the centre. There is a control panel at the base, screens dark. I gesture for the others to remain on watch and walk over to the panel. There is a button marked ENGINE INITIATION. It may be a double-bluff but so far this scenario hasn’t been particularly subtle. I know I need to move fast, so I’ve got to take some chances. I press the button and step back.
The screens light up and a dull thudding reverberates throughout the room. After a moment the lights come fully up and I feel the pull of gravity. There is a thump behind me. I turn to see what remains of Marine 1 crashing to the deck in a mix of flesh and blood and charred alien. His head rolls away into a corner. It’s a nice touch.
I check the atmosphere. We now have breathable air, so I unseal and push back my helmet. Peripheral vision is improved. The other three copy me. Two men and a woman. I won’t be bonding with them, as I don’t rate their life-expectancy.
I look around. The door is the obvious exit. Too obvious. There is a metal ladder running up one wall leading to a hatch high up near the ceiling. I stow my gun and nod to the others. ‘Let’s go.’
Climbing the ladder is easy as my suit contains small servo motors that enhance my muscles. I pull open the hatch and wriggle into what appears to be an air vent. Conveniently it is just large enough to fit a fully grown male in a spacesuit. They aren’t really trying with this one.
I pull myself along until I come to a grille in the floor of the vent. I squint through into a room below containing several aliens sitting around a desk. Their hearing can’t be great as they don’t seem to have noticed me dragging myself through the metal tube a metre above their heads. They also seem surprisingly untroubled by the fact that gravity has abruptly reasserted its hold on them. They are studying paper plans on the table, pointing at something.
I pause to think. Is this just a red herring and should I carry on? Instinct tells me that I need those plans to progress. I fumble about at my belt until I find something marked ‘Stun Grenade’. I manage to pull up one corner of the grille, prime the grenade and roll it through, and quickly reengage my helmet.
There is a flash of light and a blast of sound, and then I dive headfirst through the grille. It’s not quite as impressive as I intended. I land on the table, which cracks beneath my weight, and end up with one foot wedged between two bits of broken plastic. But the aliens aren’t going anywhere. The stun grenade appears to have triggered some sort of shutdown mode. I shoot them while I extract my foot and try to regain some dignity before my team drops through.
I retract my helmet and pick up the plans. They’re torn in half with a boot print in the middle. I piece them together. This is embarrassing. Not quite the image I had been trying to project. It is a schematic of the ship’s upper decks. The bridge is obvious, and I work backwards from there towards where I must be. I eventually work it out by matching a number on the wall with some writing on the map that my boot had half obscured. There are two ways of getting to the bridge, with no obvious reason for choosing one over the other. My guess is that one is booby-trapped.
I come up with a plan. I follow one corridor with Marines 2 and 4. Marine 3 takes the other route. In my group Marine 2 takes point, and I hang well back.
With good reason as it turns out. We are barely halfway down the corridor when the lights go out. I dive for the shelter of a bulkhead, my helmet coming back up. There is an explosion ahead, and parts of Marine 2 come whistling past me. Oh well. No point in having cannon-fodder if you don’t feed the cannons.
We’ll be taking the other corridor then.
We retrace our steps and catch up with Marine 3. The lights are still working here. He is proceeding cautiously, gun barrel sweeping ahead of him. I order 3 to walk backwards behind us, and am rewarded for my caution as an alien leaps out of a doorway behind us, only immediately to be eviscerated by 3. In a repeat of their previous tactics, as Marine 4 turns back to us, two aliens come running down the corridor behind him. Fortunately I am not so naive. By the time 4 turns back, what is left of the aliens is sliding down the walls of the corridor.
The routes meet up again as we come to a door helpfully marked bridge. I set 3 and 4 to watch behind us, and study the door. There is no obvious way of opening it, no helpful button marked ‘Push Me’. A screen lights up.
To enter the Bridge you must first solve three riddles.
Of course. If you are flying through the depths of space and liable to face alien attacks, don’t make it too easy for the crew. Nothing like body recognition or biometric coding to open doors securely and quickly. Instead have a system that takes minutes to unlock and give
s intruders just as much chance as the crew to get in.
Maybe that was why the crew died. They weren’t very good at riddles.
I sigh, and check the time. Seventeen minutes have elapsed, so we are well within the parameters. Although I don’t know how fast Bird is progressing, which is what really matters. Assuming she is even playing fairly this time.
It takes me a minute to solve their fairly lame riddles, and the door hisses open. I gesture for Marine 3 to go first, and I follow.
To my surprise – and not a little regret – 3 remains alive. There is no obvious opposition. Nor is there any sign of another team of marines, which is what matters most.
There is a flashing screen on a control panel in the centre of the room, with a large red button next to it. I resist the urge to go over and instead look around carefully. I’m guessing that there is one last big bad to kill, then I can press the button and we can all go home. I probably need to trigger the fight by at least looking interested in the button. I take a step towards it.
Everything freezes. The screen stops in mid flash and the room becomes silent. I am frozen in place. For a moment I think that my boots have chosen an unfortunate moment to re-magnetise, but then I realise none of me can move. I hear footsteps behind me, but I can’t turn to see who it is.
A figure appears in my peripheral vision and steps in front of me.
Amy Bird.
She doesn’t appear to be playing the game. She is dressed as she was earlier, has no spacesuit or weapons, and no team of supporting characters. She turns to me.
‘That wasn’t really much of a challenge for you, was it, Ben? Eighteen minutes is pretty impressive.’
I try to say something, if only to shout at her, but my voice is frozen as well. I have no choice but to listen. I don’t know if this is Amy Bird or some version of Sierra speaking to me, or if they are even different any more.
‘The trouble is, Ben, good as you are, it doesn’t really help. You aren’t actually playing against me. Our friend Mr Guskov has a number of sidelines. He has a particularly talented doctor working for him. Personally I think Dr Bernard is a psychopath, but he has discovered how to move minds from schizos to andis; and, better yet, how to activate different schizo minds at the same time. Of course you can’t release them all into the same body at once – he tried that and it led to catatonic shutdown as they fought for control. But he can drop minds into andis or simulations. As can I, now that I have access to all your minds.
‘So you aren’t fighting me, Ben. You’re fighting yourself. Look.’ She waves a hand and an image appears floating in the air in front of me. I can see two figures in spacesuits, fighting their way through a ship’s hangar. One shouts something and raises a gun. Then the image fades.
‘That’s Alex and Kate,’ says Bird. ‘They aren’t as good as you. And their challenges are rather different. But they should finish within the thirty minutes. Don’t expect them to come bursting on to the bridge here, though. I have had to keep you on separate ships. It’s best that you don’t meet. But the set-up is similar. Press the red button and win. Don’t press it and die. Real death, Ben. Mindwipe. You won’t wake up in a couple of weeks arguing with the others over what body to have. It will all end now.
‘But there’s a catch. It’s not about who presses the button first. It’s about who doesn’t press it before the thirty minutes is up. Because they will die for sure. But if both teams press it before the game ends, everyone dies.
‘I’m going to release you in a moment, and you have a choice to make, Ben. Press the button and you have a chance of living. But only if Kate and Alex fail to complete the game in time, or don’t press their button. If neither team presses the button the clock runs out, you get sucked into a black hole, and everyone dies. If one of you presses the button, and the other doesn’t, the team to press it lives.
‘Your choice, Ben. Press the button if you want a chance at life. But will your friends think you are that selfish, or will they assume you have chosen to let them live? Or will they think that if they are going to die then you might as well too? How much do your friends love you? How well do they know you? How much do you love them?’
KATE
DAY FOUR
12:45–13:15
For reasons I don’t understand I’m dressed in a spacesuit and standing in a dimly lit docking bay blasting aliens. To left and right of me are parked shuttlecraft, leaving a narrow field of fire ahead.
This is meant to be Ben’s game. I have no idea what I am doing here, or why. I have no recollection of coming to an arena.
I’m sure Ben could identify with precision the black-barrelled weapon that I am clutching at waist level. He could probably also put a name to the white-skinned, long-clawed aliens that are rushing towards me, pointed teeth showing through rictus grins. All I know is that each time I pull the trigger it gives a satisfying thump and a flash of light incinerates the nearest alien. They seem to be bent on some sort of suicide mission; five bodies are scattered in front of me. Although unarmed, if they get too close their claws and teeth will be more than a match for my gun.
I pull the trigger again, another alien explodes, and the recoil makes me step backwards. I bump into something that moves away from me. I spin around, thinking that one of the aliens has got behind me.
My gun is half-raised, my finger tensing on the trigger, as I realise that it is another figure in a spacesuit, firing in the opposite direction. Their helmet is closed, and I have no idea if I know who he, or she, is. Whoever it is I have to trust that they’ve got my back.
I turn around and shoot two more aliens at close range. The nearest one explodes over me in a splatter of white goo. I’m not sure if it’s blood, brains or internal organs.
I wipe the faceplate of my spacesuit clean with a gloved hand.
In front of me it has gone quiet. There is no sign of any more attackers. Cautiously I look over my shoulder. That way too is empty, apart from gently smoking bodies.
I step to the side, where I can look both ways, and lean back against one of the shuttles. I am sweating inside the suit.
The other figure turns to me, lowers their gun, and fiddles with something on the side of their helmet. The faceplate retracts and the helmet swivels back.
It takes me a moment to realise that it is Alex. Not Alex in Mike’s body, and not the Alex I knew when I was seventeen. This Alex is older, lean, his features harder – perhaps how he sees himself now. I don’t understand how we can be part of the same game.
But then I don’t understand how I am here at all, so anything seems possible.
He gestures to the side of his head, and says something. I can hear nothing. It takes me a moment to realise that he is telling me how to retract my helmet. After some fumbling I find the right button, and am breathing fresh air.
He frowns. ‘Kate, is that you?’
‘Yes.’ I have no idea what I look like in this reality. ‘Alex, what are we doing here? This was meant to be Ben’s game. How did we get to the arena?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Ben is meant to be playing Amy Bird. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. She seems to be able to do odd things in the arenas. The first I knew I was standing here with you shooting whatever these things are.’ He prods one of the smoking corpses with his toe. ‘I did get this message, though.’
You are part of a two-person covert operations team that has been landed aboard the Queen of Circinus, an intergalactic cruise liner carrying over 2,000 passengers. A group of alien terrorists has killed the bridge crew and set the ship on a collision course with a black hole. You have thirty minutes in which to find your way to the bridge and change course. Fail to reach the bridge within thirty minutes and you will all die. The aliens are fleeing and will try to stop you. The passengers are unaware of what is going on, and you must try not to cause panic. Avoid or eliminate the aliens, find your way to the bridge by whatever means, and change course.
‘So I’m guessing t
hose were the fleeing aliens,’ I say, gesturing to the bodies. ‘They were leaving as we arrived. How long do we have left?’
‘About twenty-eight minutes.’
‘Any idea how we get to the bridge? I don’t imagine it’s going to be as simple as walking along the corridor and finding it.’
‘The hangar doors are behind us,’ says Alex. ‘So I’m guessing the exit is at the other end.’
We step cautiously between the alien corpses, wary of the still-twitching claws. We walk past the shuttlecraft until we come to a door marked LEVEL SIX. Alex presses a button and we pass through into a deserted corridor. It ends at a lift, the doors of which open as we approach. A screen on one wall lights up.
Level One:
Bridge [Restricted Area]
Level Two:
Suites, Cygnus Theatre and Observation Deck
Level Three:
State Rooms and Dining
Level Four:
Cabins
Level Five:
Crew Accommodation [Restricted Area]
Level Six:
Engineering [Restricted Area]
I try to select Level One. The doors close, but the screen flashes red and we don’t move. It was never going to be that easy.
‘Let’s get as close as we can to the bridge,’ I say. ‘We ought to be able to get to Level Two, and then we just need to find a way up one more level.’
‘All right,’ says Alex. ‘But we can’t go stamping round the passenger levels in spacesuits and carrying guns. We’re meant to be covert and not panic the passengers. We’re going to have to ditch this gear.’
‘True, but what if we run into more aliens?’
‘Hopefully that was all of them,’ says Alex. ‘They can’t be in the passenger areas or there would be panic already.’
There is no space in the lift, so we open the doors and step back into the corridor. After some awkward fumbling we work out how to remove the spacesuits. We stuff our guns inside the suits and leave them next to a bulkhead.
