"Eddie, remind me to go to the contraband room after this," he requested aloud.
"Why?" Eddie asked with some concern.
"There's a dermal-etcher in there."
"Does now seem like the best time to get a tattoo?" Eddie asked. "The captain's already going terrifyingly overboard with the body-mods at the moment. You're probably only still alive because his hobby of turning himself into a metal human lobster is at least time-consuming."
"I need to start writing stuff down on my arm, so you don't have to keep convincing me of things I should already remember discovering."
"Actually… that's not a bad idea."
Andrews shrugged, a little proud, and sifted through the logs until he found the captain talking about the water tasting a little acidic. From that point, the captain's rigid self-grooming regime took a nosedive. "Man, you can see it in his eyes."
"…by the time any planet had enough resources to actually build something that astronomically colossal, their sun would probably supernova long before getting…" the captain said, before being sped up again.
"I remember that," Andrews smiled, fondly. "His Dyson-sphere rant." He furrowed his brow as he watched the slow descent in fast forward. "Do you think we can help him?"
"Realistically, I don't really know," Eddie admitted. "He may be a little too far gone, to be honest. But if you cut off the supply of whatever's in the water, be it in the tank or in each dispenser, he might have a chance. Though you'd have to continue to evade him for some time, as I don't think he'll snap back into uncrazy-mode after missing a single dose. And he'd be in a terrible way when that stuff wears off. Withdrawal's already a bitch without all that crazy stuff he's done to himself."
Andrews thought about the troubling remarks about the captain. He couldn't remember everything he'd seen, since the madness began, so Eddie always sounded like he'd seen more. But as a voice in his head, Eddie seemed to represent the last strand of sanity buried in the scrambled mess that Andrew's mind had become. He relied on him reminding him of all the things his short-term memory struggled to retain. His last clear memory of the captain was the man he respected and served under lashing out at him. His arm had been a bloody mess after wiring a metal plate to his forearm. He had welded spikes onto it, made of sharp fragments of broken metal from the drive explosion. Eddie kept referencing him in a manner that made that memory seem a little outdated. But most of Andrew's recent memories seemed to revolve around hiding and crawling through conduits and vents, sleeping and crawling in service tunnels.
He looked at the paused image of the captain on the screen again. "I've forgotten why I'm here," he admitted, exhausted and defeated. "What was I hoping to find?"
"You were trying to pin-point the time it all started," Eddie said. "Seems like you got it though. When the prison issue no touchy-touchy juice ran out. So, looks like it's the water. Like I said all along."
"Right," Andrews said, imagining that in whatever form Eddie existed, he was somehow shaking his head. "I hope this isn't permanent. This memory situation."
"If it is, and we get out of this, I promise I'll look after you," Eddie said.
Andrews closed his eyes tightly. Sinking his head at the console, he took a few deep breaths. "Thank you."
As his short-term memory failed him, Andrews found his long-term memory trying to assert itself, particularly in his dreams. His subconscious proved an unreliable curator of the finer details, distorting familiar places and swapping familiar faces, but the nostalgia was comforting. Watching the captain's log had brought back fonder memories of the man he'd proudly served under. A warm and pleasant man with an old-fashioned sense of fun and boring sense of humor with jokes and remarks of a brand of wit that couldn't really procure more than a mild smirk, but it made him strangely likable.
Andrews found himself kicking a ball made of joined ident bracelets that were taken off the prisoners during transport on Custodian One, as the dermal etcher was used to label their skin instead. Corridor kickball, they called the game that was popular amongst the crew and guards on return trips. The dream started with the full teams that played on other return trips from the prison planet, but by the end, it was just the two of them, as it had been on this last return. The captain was trying to tell him something, but over the course of the dream, his voice was ever increasingly blurred by reverb and obscured by what sounded like comm distortion. An obscure mechanical sound replaced his voice, soft as if distant, but with all the hallmarks of loudness.
Andrews woke up in a service shaft juncture. It was one of several hiding places he'd set up for sleep. In this particular spot, his bedding was made from a prisoner mattress he'd managed to drag and squeeze into the tight area. Even a small single mattress in such a confined space curled up around the walls to form a cocoon-like cradle. It was like sleeping in a soft bathtub. It was his favorite spot because it had real pillows, instead of prisoner uniforms stuffed with other uniforms or other makeshift methods of cushioning. The pillow under his head was cold and wet.
"What the hell?" he asked, confused. He felt the low ceiling above him for leaks, then his own head. His hair was wet. "Am I sweating from my head?"
"Huh," Eddie said, sounding as if he had just woken up as well. He even seemed to yawn. "You say something?"
"I think I've been sweating from my head?" Andrews said, feeling his face, finding it dry. "Just the scalp. Who sweats from their head like this?"
"Recovering junkies, I think," Eddie offered. "Sounds like withdrawals. You could be on the road to recovery."
"Or I'm getting poisoned from drinking toilet water," Andrews resentfully suggested.
"Cistern water," Eddie corrected. "It's not toilet water until it goes into the bowl. Of all the things you need to remember, why is that the one that keeps coming up?"
Andrews shrugged. "It's not like I choose to," he said. "But then, working on ships keeps me thirsty. Even without the running and hiding, climbing through ducts, and everything else. Recycled air is dry; conditioned air is dry. Sweating though my head all night probably didn't help much either."
"Right, so that's why we need to get a look at how this stuff is introduced to the normal water supply today. You need to get to the tanks. Have a look at what's going on in there. If it's late enough in the pumps, the regular water might be salvageable. But here I am repeating myself again."
"I remember you telling me you've already told me something on more occasions than I remember you telling me things," Andrews said, putting on his boots.
"It's exhausting," Eddie sighed, "but repetition seems to be the key. Well, sometimes. That's why it's more efficient to just trust me and do as I say. We'd get tasks done faster, leaving us more time to figure out what you're going to do at the station this ship's heading for."
"Get the next transport home," Andrews said, unwrapping a breakfast bar.
"Oh, you think they're going to let you wander off and tell everyone about your crazy experience here?"
Andrews chewed the dense processed ration bar. His eyes flicked about his narrow surroundings as he contemplated the notion of his implied fugitivity. "Are you saying that they're going to do something to me?"
"Oh, Andrews," Eddie said, disappointed. "They already did something to you, buddy. They just need to record the data now. You think the lab rats who find their way out of the maze get to wander off back to some nature park or sewer? If you make it out of this alive, they're going to secure you, question you, then cut you open and see how each organ fared under the strain of their chemical cocktail."
Andrews grimaced cynically. "They wouldn't do that."
"Well, who are you going to trust?" Eddie asked. "The voice of reason that's been guiding you through all this, or the people who created the 'all this' to begin with?"
Andrews twisted his face with uncertainty. "One way or another, you both have me drinking out of toilets."
"Roll up your left sleeve," Eddie insisted.
Andrews pulled his h
ead back.
"Go on," Eddie encouraged. "Up to the elbow."
Pulling his grey-blue sleeve up, Andrews caught a glimpse of some marking. "What the hell?" he said, turning his arm to look at his inner wrist. The words 'LISTEN TO EDDIE' was printed on his flesh using the same dermal etcher they use to tag the prisoners. He looked around and saw the device sitting by his crumpled bed. He hummed amused once the shock passed. "I see."
"Yes. That's how most conversations are probably going to end, moving forwards."
He didn't remember doing it, but there it was. It would have had to be a compelling argument to convince him to do that to himself and he clearly wanted himself to remember that fact.
"We good?" Eddie asked.
"My arm certainly seems to think so."
Andrews found himself fading into lucidity as he removed an injector from the stretch of tubing behind a drink dispenser. The operative panel was open, and tools were at his feet. "Looks like you were right," Andrews said. "Does this mean I can stop drinking out of the toilets?"
"Cisterns," Eddie sighed. "But yes. You can at least drink out of this dispenser for now. The rest, once you gather all those things," Eddie instructed. "Get them all and stash them somewhere safe. That's evidence. You're going to need that leverage, once you're on the run."
"On the run?"
"Don't make me make you look at your arm again," Eddie said.
Andrews smiled a moment, before flinching at a distant clang.
"Captain's on the move again," Eddie warned. "Grab your tools, shut the panel, and pocket the dosing mechanism."
Andrews quickly did as he was instructed, clearing the corridor quickly.
"Andrews," the captain's voice crackled over the coms. "Are you still onboard?" The transmission echoed in the distance as it issued from every speaker on the ship.
Andrews looked up to the nearest camera. Was the captain asking because he didn't know, or was he just being colorful as he watched him from security?
"Don't worry," Eddie whispered. "He's not in the security room."
"How do you know that?" Andrews whispered back, slipping the dosing injector into one of his front pockets.
"He can't get in there. It's welded shut," Eddie reminded him. "Remember?"
"No," Andrews admitted as he scratched his tattooed forearm.
"Andrews?" the captain called again. "You're late for duty. By several days…or is it weeks? Maybe months. You know, I can barely remember what you look like now. Some sort of disciplinary action is in order, I should think."
"Something to look forward to," Andrews mumbled nervously as he collected his tools.
"Mr. Andrews," the captain yelled. The voice distorting as it pierced Andrews's ears. "Report to the bridge."
Andrews clutched at his head as he continued to the next dispenser.
"What's wrong?" Eddie asked.
"I've got a terrible headache," he said, dropping to one knee.
"Withdrawals," Eddie said. "You've got to fight through it, man."
"I need to lie down for a bit," Andrews said, consumed by pain in both his head and stomach. He was soon on his hands and knees, struggling to move forward as drowsiness dragged him down and blurred his vision.
"Listen to me, Andrews," Eddie said. "You cannot collapse out in the open. At least find somewhere to hide. Get in the vents or something." Eddie continued to make suggestions, calling his name as the captain called his name over the comms. Both voices distorting as they yelled.
Andrews made for the nearest vent plate, slipping down to his hips and elbows as the dark grey corridor twisted and contorted before him, as if he was blind drunk. "Sorry, Eddie," he said, as the voices called his name. Everything went black.
When Andrews regained consciousness, he was sliding slowly backwards while a pounding metallic clunking sound was shattering his skull. He felt seams in the floor plating run up his body and across his face. As he looked up, he saw the corridor growing in length before him. Feeling a tight grip around his raised ankle, he realized he was being dragged. By the time he had the wherewithal to look back, his foot was released, and a hatch opened.
"Airlock Four open," a digital voice said from above the hatch.
Andrews was lifted off the corridor floor and thrown into the small room. He saw a glimpse of dark metal and cables, blood and flesh, torn uniform, and an almost-human frame before the hatch quickly shut behind him. By the time the panic kicked in, it was too late. He was in a small cylindrical chamber with the cold void of space on the other side of the outer hatch.
"Airlock Four closed," the digital voice updated.
"Eddie?" Andrews called out as he scrambled to get up.
With his whole body in pain, he managed to pull himself up to the door-release panel. It had been torn out, leaving behind a square recess with burn marks and frayed wires too short to connect with each other. There was a loud double clunk behind him.
"External doors unlocked," the digital voice warned as orange lights began rotating in the tiny windowless room. The swirling projections of the warning lights made the room seem like it was folding in on itself.
Andrews dropped back to his knees to access the manual control. But with the outer doors unlocked, the failsafe would never allow the inner doors to be opened.
"You need some time to think about your dereliction of duty," the captain said from the other side of the sealed inner hatch. "I'll come back when I've decided which hatch to let you through."
Andrews sat defeated with his back against the inner hatch, staring at the outer one. The only thing he had the power to do was force open the outer doors, and he wasn't terribly keen on that idea. Though, with the outer hatch unlocked, no new air would be pumped into the small room, expecting to be depressurized. So, if the captain suffered from the same memory issues as Andrews, and left him there too long, he was going to suffocate anyway. At least on this side of the outer hatch, he had the luxury of periodically holding his breath to stretch out his life a little longer. A few seconds at a time, for whatever that was worth.
"Any suggestions, Eddie?" he asked, as he listened to the captain clunk his way down the corridor in his patchwork carapace of self-administered, medically unsound upgrades. "So screwed, even the voice in my head won't talk to me anymore, huh?"
All he heard was the sound of his own blood throbbing through his neck each time he held his breath. With his gaps in short-term memory, it was hard to keep track of how long he was in there for. His headache had retreated to a low obtuse pain, and his throat was so dry, it was beginning to make him cough, making it harder to hold his breath. The only fluid on him was whatever was in the injector in his pocket. The very liquid he'd become dehydrated trying to avoid, in its pure concentrate, undiluted state. He felt himself fade again.
Andrews woke up to a loud sound, surprised he'd fallen asleep in such peril. It took him a moment to register the sound. The cessation of the spinning orange lights indicated that it must have been the outer hatch locking.
"Captain?" he called out. There was no response. He sat there a moment, listening. He looked down at the floor and saw the shutter for the inner hatch's manual release. He quickly shuffled into position, sliding the shutter, and squeezing the lever’s safety trigger to pull it up. Once raised, the inner hatch opened to an empty corridor as fresher air welcomed him. It was the dry trapped air of the ship, as grey in flavor as the ship's corridors, but right now, it may as well have been a botanic module. Cautiously poking his head out to look in each direction, he saw no sign of the walking horror that locked him in. He quickly stepped out of the airlock, wondering if the failsafe included a time limit on the outer hatch being unlocked.
"Eddie?" he whispered, but there was no response.
If the voice in his head was gone, perhaps he'd passed through the influence of the compound being tested on him. Andrews wondered if Eddie had been a coping mechanism. Simply a part of his own mind disconnecting from the cloudy mess and adopting its own pe
rsona to rationalize its presence. Perhaps it was symptomatic, and the captain had his own Eddie, turning him against his co-pilot and convincing him to do terrible things to his own body.
Something to contemplate in a safer place, Andrews realized. He quickly made for one of his hiding holes, but not before stopping by the one safe dispenser on the ship and drinking water from it until he cramped.
Figuring that his best chance of avoiding passing out in the corridors again was to not venture out until he was completely rested, Andrews crawled into one of his hidden beds and closed his eyes, hoping for a long sleep.
"Andrews," the voice of Eddie returned, waking him up.
"Eddie?" he said, opening his eyes again. He wondered how long he'd managed to rest. "I thought you'd left."
"Where was I going to go?"
"You really left me high and dry there, man," Andrews said angry. "I was about to get flushed out into space by that lunatic."
"How do you think you managed to escape?" Eddie asked, sounding insulted.
Andrews rolled his eyes and tried to replay the incident in his mind. Had Eddie thought of something, and told him what to do, before another lapse in Andrew's unreliable memory made him forget?
"If you want your old captain back, you need to get back to work on those dispensers," Eddie said.
"Not so sure there is a 'back' from where he's gone," Andrews said. "I didn't get a good look at him, but from what I saw, he seems too far gone."
"We've still got a bit of a trip left," Eddie reminded him. "The next time he throws you in an airlock, it might not turn out so well. You won't survive this trip with him getting about like that. It's only a matter of time before he gets all experimental with the ship, the way he's been with himself. Hiding won't be much of an option if he manages to shut down life support."
Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology Page 8