by ML Banner
The pods became more defined, with 20 to 30 parasitics coming together in an almost perfect circle. It was hard to count the exact numbers, because most of these were under the shroud of their shed clothing. And the lounge’s two cameras could only see so much.
By the third day, it was obvious each pod had its own structure. And that was when they noticed the pods were periodically rotating those from the outside in and moving those on the inside out.
It was only last night that they’d observed that one individual parasitic was being kept in the middle of the pod. Dr. Molly guessed that it all had to do with retaining that parasitic’s higher body temperature so that it could use its new abilities for something they didn't yet know. At the beginning of the fifth day of their captivity, they’d found out what that was. That's when the attacks came.
Dr. Molly had thought the attacks were random; at least, at the time it did seem that way. The two attacks were against the guards, who were there to oversee the feeding and protection of that area. Each guard was attacked during the feeding times, when the guards entered the lounge. The first attack almost seemed telegraphed, with the parasitic grunting its intention before it started moving. The guard had barely opened up the door when he heard and then saw the parasitic running in his direction. He simply slipped back behind the door and closed it before it could get to him.
The second attack was much more of a surprise. The guard entered with another feeding volunteer—a newly recruited crew member from the guests that volunteered for this duty—who carried the food. The attacking parasitic dashed from its pod, which was also closer to the intended target. And it did so, as told by the guard, without any sound. The feeder reacted quickly and ran back out the door, although he tripped over his own feet at the door’s threshold and fell just outside the doorway. The guard was two seconds slower, having followed the same path, but he didn’t see the feeder at his feet, causing him to tumble even harder. Luckily, another guard was able to secure the doors before the parasitic hit. But the falling guard sustained a broken leg and messed-up ankle. It could have been much worse.
This morning’s attack, the third one was the most odd...
“Fascinating...” Dr. Molly said, obviously reaching the end of his notes. She turned to him with a slight smile. “Thank you, Mr. Deep, for such a concise rendition of the last few hours’ events. Can you please play me the recordings of the last attack?”
He had the two main camera recordings all cued up and clicked a button to start the recordings.
“This is the pod, Dr. Molly.” Deep tapped on the screen at the pod that seemed particularly active, bristling with movement under its clothes-tent.
It came from the pod farthest from the main entrance door. The parasitic leapt out of its pod, this time headed toward the port-side lounge exit. And like the other two attacking parasitics, it first wobbled when it rose while it gained its stride. But even more so than the last one, halfway to the door, it moved with blinding speed. That was, until it hit the door head-first. Both the door and the parasitic sustained heavy damage. The parasitic fell to the floor from what looked like a broken neck and never moved again. The door held, but the frame was bent at an odd angle and the door itself was partially twisted inward; enough that it exposed light from the other side.
This was very scary to Deep for multiple reasons. Primarily because it was a fire door: a solid steel protective barrier, and all it took was one former human to almost take it down.
She had him play the tape back twice and each time she “hmmmm’d” out loud, seeming to pick up a new thought or a new piece of evidence to support her latest theory, which he desperately wanted to hear.
“Did you report the door?” she asked.
Her question jostled him a little, because he had lost sight of the obvious: if that door was not impenetrable, then these parasitics could get out.
He didn’t hesitate, flipped a switch, snatched the microphone and clicked it open, “Attention Maintenance. This is Deep from the MR. We need a maintenance crew to the port-side crew entrance of the Wayfarer Lounge. There may be a breach in the side lounge door, holding back the parasitics.
Deep’s eye caught movement on one of his monitors and he let go of the mic button. The main monitor was set to live stream from the camera right above the main entrance, facing aft. The same pod that sent the dead parasitic to attack the door was bristling with new activity. And then one of them leapt out of the pod.
“Look Dr. Molly, it’s happening again.”
92
Ágúst
The man formerly known as Second Officer Ágúst Helguson gave the order to the pod: a short but rapid gagging sound, which he knew to mean several things to the pod he commanded. And like all decisions and thoughts, he considered this one and what led up to it.
As before, he was more of a manager now than a leader and he was fine with that. When he was a mere human, he commanded many people, but only after receiving his orders. There were times he made decisions as the safety director of the Intrepid, but even those were a programmed result of a problem he had already encountered or was trained for.
And the few times he didn’t know the answer, he relied on those around him, unafraid of delegating the many tasks given him to others who would complete the task more competently than even he could.
His life now was really no different, even if he was very different. Just like before, he reacted to outside stimuli, as well as deducing what might happen and his mind—because of his knowledge—would automatically generate the result. But it wasn’t just his learned knowledge at work. There was something else.
Another being inside his mind was calling the shots. But it wasn’t so bad, because this other being also gave him certain abilities that he never enjoyed as a mere human.
Besides no longer having an upset stomach or an irritable bowel, problems which used to plague him constantly, he had lost all his fears. He had none now. For instance, he used to worry what others thought of him, sometimes spending sleepless nights contemplating what he said or did, or what he was about to say or do. Not any longer.
Besides lacking worry, he had lightning-quick reflexes, twice his normal strength, an increased intellect and excellent eyesight. And he never had to second-guess himself, because the parasites inside him told him what to do and when to do it. So did Eloise.
The woman known to her dead relatives and a few on board this ship as Eloise Carmichael now had a hold over him he couldn’t resist. And he didn’t really want to.
When Eloise first spoke to him, it was right after his changes started. It was a confusing time for him, as his mind was filled with such tumult. The ship was in chaos, his colleagues panicking and he just didn’t know what was going on inside his brain and body.
It was the reflexive nature of his former personality, which was afraid of what they thought of him. He didn’t really fear it, only what was going on inside of him. But when they saw his red eyes and reacted with such horror, he thought he needed to do something to help his ship be safe. That was his job, after all.
When the task of securing the anchor release was offered and no one volunteered, he did. He could prove to them that he was still the Ágúst Helguson they trusted and do his job. But then she called to him.
He still couldn’t explain it now, as he thought about it, but when he was running to get to the anchor release, he could feel her in his mind. As he got closer, the feelings were stronger. And when he saw her, he disregarded all he knew and learned, giving it all away to her. She told him what to do and he did it, even though some little part of him told him it was wrong.
But then she was gone and so was her pull. And his human side, even though it was barely there, called him back to his duties. It was a horrible time for him, because he was torn by two sides pulling equally then and he didn’t know what to do. He felt sick and tormented by good and evil. And he was so exhausted. So he sought rest and somehow ended up in this lounge.
&nb
sp; That’s when everything once again became clear to him.
It was perhaps his fatigue at first, then it was his need to eliminate the confusion—the being inside him was offering the answers—but once he was in the lounge, with all the others, he had submitted to it. And he’d found Eloise again.
Previous to his changes, he was uncomfortable with women, having had sex only once, and it went badly. He had believed that sex was something that you only shared with a married partner; it was not something to be done with someone you casually bumped into.
Yet, when they discarded their clothing—he couldn’t remember who told him to do this, his inner being or hers—he found her and she him and never questioned it. As it was with every part of his becoming something new, innately he knew he was being called to do this, so it must be right.
Immediately, he felt an even stronger intuitive connection with Eloise. He seemed to know her thoughts and she his. This was when the greatest changes took place in him as he accepted everything the parasites inside him and she told him. This included his command over the others.
He automatically came to know a new language and they listened to him and followed his commands without question. Unlike his human life, where he second-guessed his every decision and worried that others did as well, he never questioned anything. It was what was commanded of him and so therefore it was what he should do.
Today, he had a new command, a new purpose for their people. He knew what they had to do and how to do it. And so before they expected any of the humans to enter the lounge for their feeding, he heard in his mind and he then commanded that one of their strongest test their strength against the fire door on the far side of the lounge. He knew from his time before this would be difficult. But he also knew that if the right amount of pressure were applied to the right point in the door, it would start to give. And so the command was issued and carried out perfectly.
They knew they could exit out this door and so all they had to do was wait for their next feeding to start the next part of their plan. That was now.
Eloise bellowed a long single grunt, jostling Ágúst from his contemplations. He was given what his next command should be.
Ágúst immediately gave a series of short grunts that sounded like a seal barking.
The command’s recipient burst from the pod that had physically prepared him for this. He dashed to the door.
Ágúst didn’t even look to see if he executed his command. He knew he would. It was time for the next part of their plan. He bellowed his next command, knowing that this would soon lead to their freedom.
93
Ship Reps
When Flavio turned the corner at deck 2, they were all there, waiting. They reacted to his arrival, their gazes rising to acknowledge him. He instantly felt out of place.
Before all of this, he was a waiter, for God’s sake. And a damn good one. But by some twist of fate, he was now the second in command of all the ship’s security. Worse, he was a damned second officer, now part of that clan of folks he used to revile because they cozied up to corporate, so as to garner all of the increases in title and pay that weren’t normally afforded to the likes of other crew, like him. But that was before; now he was not sure if any of his previous perceptions of reality were correct.
He only knew that he now had a job to do and that his captain had asked him to be here and to do this job. And because he accepted, with God as his witness, he was going to do it. And he'd be as good an assistant security director as he was a head waiter.
I’ll be better!
At least that's what he told himself until all their eyes fell upon him.
He fidgeted with the buttons on his new uniform as he closed the distance between them. His new uniform fit well, perfect even. It just felt weird to be wearing it and the bars that had to be paraded so loudly on top of each shoulder.
Waiting for him was the captain, Mrs. Williams, and his new boss, security director Agarwal, who now wore three bars on his uniform.
The captain spoke first, “I know introductions are not needed, as we know what Mr. Petrovich has done for all of us this past week. But I did want to recognize Mr. Flavio Petrovich for taking the role of assistant security director and joining us here today.”
There was a short clap from everyone, as each scrutinized him.
This was absolutely the one thing he didn't want.
“Way to go, Flavio,” TJ announced with a smile behind her sunglasses. He was surprised to see that she looked less pale to him, like she was dead before and had come back alive today.
“Thank you, Mrs. Villiams,” Flavio said and then nodded at her. “And thank you, Captain and Mr. Agarwal. It is my honor to serve you and my ship.”
“I believe you know how to handle this weapon," Wasano handed him an M4 rifle. Flavio could see Wasano had another slung behind his back.
Flavio accepted the rifle, grabbing the stock with one hand and the rail with the other; the butt found a familiar place underneath his pit. He pointed it at a crate on the floor, away from the group. “It's not like my dependable AK-74.” He pulled back the charging bolt and examined it to see if there was a round in the chamber. There was. He let go, letting it slide back into its place, and flicked the safety back on. “But this will do.”
Flavio slung the weapon to his back, the same way his superior had his. “What's our mission, sir?”
Captain Jean Pierre looked like he was going to answer, but then he stopped and motioned toward the movement coming from the stairwell. It was five other security personnel, who appeared to be joining them.
“Very good. Now that we are all here,” the captain lifted his voice, addressing their whole group, “we are waiting for the all-clear from our OOD on the port-side swing deck, as well as Ted Williams, who will be our base operator on the bridge. So far, we have not observed any activity out on the dock. We can't tell if anyone is alive. It's possible the radio broadcast is just repeating itself and the people who broadcast the signal are either dead or have left. And in fact, it does appear that this town hasn't sustained the chaos, fires, or death that everyone else has. It looks like the town has simply been abandoned.”
“Maybe they heard British chef Jon is here to serve them food.” Flavio instantly wanted to take this back, while he had to forcibly hold back a snicker that wanted to come out. He was shocked that the quip came out of his own mouth. It was like his old self was rebelling, not wanting to give into his new position.
“Officer Petrovich, do you have a question for the captain?” Wasano asked with a scowl.
“Sorry, sir. Only wanted to know, if guns for people or crazies?” Flavio coughed once in his hand, hoping his misplaced comment didn't get him into too much hot water.
“Maybe both. We just don’t know. Any other questions?”
“No sir. Thank you.”
While they waited several long minutes for the all-clear, Flavio examined each of the people in their group of ship’s representatives, starting with Teresa Jean Williams.
Normally she would stand out in a crowd, especially wearing the only thing she seemed to wear now, very tight athletic clothes. Compared to the three officers in their formal white on blue uniforms and the other security in their standard uniforms, she looked out of place. However, he knew Mrs. Williams was FBI, and he had seen her in action. And although he still didn't completely trust her because of her recent changes, she seemed uniquely qualified to be a part of this group.
He suspected that the security director was capable. Wasano had already proven himself pretty solid under pressure. On the other hand, he knew nothing about the other security personnel, but he suspected that none had experienced any extreme pressure, much less being in a fire-fight. What kind of pressure does security see on a cruise ship, except dealing with drunkards and minor rule-breakers?
It was then Flavio noticed that each of the security team held their long flashlights as their only weapon. The largest of them had a stun gun holstered to
his hip. Flavio always suspected there weren't many firearms on board. Seeing just the two rifles appeared to buttress his suspicion. He also suspected that no one but maybe Wasano and certainly Teresa Jean—who carried no weapons of her own—had any firearms training.
At least I won’t be accidentally shot by my own people, he thought. This was not an uncommon problem with troops in their first battle.
He guessed then, that their real mission was to show force and more importantly, to protect the captain. This he knew he would do with his life, if necessary.
Flavio understood that they were there to make a deal with the locals of this town, assuming they were still alive, by exchanging some food for their fuel. But he also suspected that these people were probably the local thugs who had taken control during the chaos. They probably then cleaned up any evidence of their actions, so that they could lure an unsuspecting ship in under the promise of trading for fuel.
What is it the Americans say... It’s not my first rodeo.
Flavio thought back to his time in the Romanian Army. Even though the Russians were on everybody's minds, it was usually the local mob or Bratva, or “brotherhood” as the Russians called it, who were most likely to fire upon them, even if you gave them what they wanted. Flavio's fear was that this group had no intention of making a deal with them. So as much as he respected his captain, the man was not accustomed to these kinds of situations. Neither was the security director.
Flavio was beginning to feel very glad he was asked to accept this position as he might be the only one with the experience to deal with what could become a bad situation.
Their radios chirped at the same time. A female voice crackled through. "I see someone coming. Suggest you put your earpieces on.”
Flavio didn’t have one, but he watched the captain, security director and Mrs. Williams plug their earpieces into their ears and into their radios, silencing the static.
