Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology

by J. E. Feldman

  The docking process begins and after a minute of loud, echoing clunks and whirrs, the round door of your vessel opens. Your taut form springs into action, quickly and quietly rushing into the loading bay with your crowbar primed and ready. Your eyes dart around as you move, scanning the bleak, square room as best you can. Various old boxes clutter the corners of the damp space, the likely source of the strong mildew smell in the air. To your surprise, you don’t see anyone moving to intercept you. The dock is unoccupied, but any relief at your serendipity is dashed by the strangeness of the situation. Halfway across the chamber sits a set of stairs that lead up to the raised other side of the room. The only door to the rest of the base is up there, but the level above is bare of cover. You slide close to the divider in the middle, hugging the wall as you approach.

  The door across the docking bay suddenly opens. You crouch as low as you can and focus on your hearing. Loud footsteps, at least three sets, approach the stairs in the center of the room. When they stop, you listen for orders, but hear no words. The people in the room simply remain completely silent for a few seconds, then suddenly lurch forward into a swift, earnest gait. As they descend the stairs, you dare a peek at them.

  What you see makes your eyes snap open. The three staff members are making a beeline toward your hiding place. Did you breathe too loud? Is a bit of your foot sticking out? You’re positive you’ve hidden yourself well, but they’ve found you anyway. Despite the need for action, you find yourself frozen as you see their grim figures for the first time.

  They walk with purpose, backs straight and heads stiffly forward. Contrary to their uptight movement, the jumpsuits that hang from their robotic forms are ratty and soiled, bearing stains that look to have been there for years. Their pallid eyes stare as empty voids of milky white, paying no attention to the world around them. The loose skin on their bones and the scraggly hair on their heads are deathly pale as well. Their complexion is something you haven’t seen before on a human, whether living or dead. The hands that hang motionless at their sides are adorned with untrimmed nails that have been neglected so long that they've curled into murky claws.

  The closest one is only a few feet away and suddenly you regain control of your body. You dash away and shove the moldy boxes onto the floor in front of your pursuers. They swerve around the obstacle without even moving their eyes. You grip your crowbar tighter and step backward. Two of them move to flank on either side of you and one stands between you and the door into the base.

  You charge the decrepit figure in your way. Your fingers tense and you swing your makeshift weapon as hard as you can at their head. The attack connects and lightning shoots up your arm from the force of metal striking bone. The pain makes you grunt, but you feel satisfaction knowing that you’ve beaten the first obstacle. That is, at least until you realize your target still stands in your way. The man’s head turns back to you, having only been knocked aside a short moment. A large leaking gash has appeared on his cheek, but he barely seems to have noticed. Your adrenaline takes over before you can fully process what you’re seeing and you swing the crowbar again, this time at his legs. The curve of the bar snags the back of his knee and he stumbles, giving you just enough room to squeeze by without getting grabbed. You sprint past and up the stairs. When you glance back, you see the blow did not keep the man down for more than a moment. He and his companions are on your heels, breaking out into a moderate run as you cross into the next room.

  You find yourself in a long, dingy hallway of metal. With no time to think, you run left and knock over a few more boxes as you move past. You pass empty metal drums as well and throw them behind you without a second thought. At the end of the hallway is a glass wall. The reflection shows your pursuers evading your attempts with uncanny precision. Without losing any speed, they bend and shift in ways no human should be able to maneuver. They slide around the boxes and barrels as gangly marionettes in the hands of the most gifted puppeteer, lurching after you with the drastic and spindly motion of creatures you’ve only seen in your nightmares.

  Your chest tightens, both from your laboring lungs and the frightful panic building in your gut. They're gaining on you. You turn the corner and sprint as hard as you can. The beings, as you’re not sure you should call them human at this point, easily follow. At the end of the hall, you spot an open hatch. Currently, you have only one choice. You dash towards the ajar door, shooting beyond its threshold and spinning around to slam it shut. You spin the circular lever with all the might you can muster and it twists according to your will. When you finish tightening, a loud bang on the other side startles you, but after that, you hear nothing. Must lock from this side, you think to yourself as you stop to catch your breath. You're suspicious of your luck, but you don't let your hunch make you ungrateful.

  When the banging ceases, you take a look around the room you’ve escaped into. A few even rows of flat tables with stools around them occupy most of the space. To one side, a compact kitchen huddles behind a partition with a wide window. Layers of dust thick as dryer lint coat the stoves, the hot plates, the microwaves, even the light switches.

  Despite the kitchen’s idleness, the tables have seen frequent use. Aluminum trays coated with various green stains are aligned perfectly in front of each seat. As your body calms from the chase, you notice a foul smell emanating from obsessively placed platters. Most bear the stains from several years of use without a wash. The greens and browns warp together like old mud and stubborn sludge; some of the oldest ones have gone black with ancient rot. A few still bear fresh food, if you could call it that. The mossy paste congeals in a color and texture you’d never want to touch, let alone eat. You turn up your protesting nose and continue out of the room to get away from the odor.

  You keep your feet light. The metal walls of the sea base echo any sound they can pick up and you don't want to run into more of the staff. You pass room after room, some with uniform rows of lockers, some with strange machines you can't identify, and some with aquariums filled with cloudy water. Nothing in any of them shows signs of use in the last generation. Unfinished experiments sit neglected, thousands of dollars wasted as the equipment rusts and breaks down with time. Long-dead biological subjects have decayed into bones so corrupted, even dogs wouldn't have them. Showers meant for daily use have gone so dry that even the mold has died. At this point, you cannot tell what most of this place was even meant to do.

  As you walk, you stop suddenly. You’re at a fork in the hall. To your right, a staircase climbing upward. To your left, another going down. You’re surprised that this is the first alternate path you’ve run into in such a large base. Then you realize something. You actually have come across several similar choices in the past half-hour. At the time, though, you just went one way without a thought. Almost instinctively, you’ve been choosing a direction without even noticing you needed to make a choice and this is the first time you’ve noticed. You squint your eyes, glaring in both directions. Where am I going?

  Even now, you look at your choices and immediately know where you want to go. The path downward seems so much more logical, but you don't quite understand why. It's just better. Against your inner wishes, you start to ascend the stairs going up out of curiosity. Once you get about three steps, a shiver runs up your back. The muscles in your face tense up hard and you feel an urge to check behind you. Nothing is there, but the second you turn, you feel something watching you from the front. You move a few more steps, head on a swivel checking all around you as invisible eyes study you from all directions. Swift shadows disappear around the corner when you turn toward them. The walls further up are convex, curving inward to impose on you. Above them, the ceiling drops lower and you feel the need to crouch as you continue. Your neck has become wet from cold sweat and you can feel the moisture on your underarms through your suit jacket. This can’t be right, your mind whispers to you. Something horrible has made its home past here.

  You stop, but your fear still worsens. Go back
! your brain screams at you. Fear is a tool, use it! You don’t know enough about what’s going on to fight whatever this is! The logic is undeniable. Much of an agent’s training involves keeping your head in stressful circumstances and now that experience shines. As you descend the stairs, your terror recedes. Slightly at first, but as you near the bottom, you feel almost normal again. Relief floods your system as you catch your ragged breath at the base of the staircase. You need more information before going up there, and you’ll find it, you reassure yourself as you start on the lower path.

  You come to another hallway and you resume your stealthy creep. For the most part, this area is the same as the ones before it. Eventually, you reach another branching road: another staircase up and a ladder going to the level below. You attempt to go up again. The sinking feeling returns much in the same way as before. You relent quicker this time and return to climb downward.

  As you continue, you make a similar decision at each crossroads you come across. With the absence of the creatures that attacked you earlier and the continuing safety of the inferior areas of the base, your confidence starts to grow. You hold your head higher and your chest out, eventually standing up proudly as you stroll along. The bleak chill of the underwater base starts to fade and your body fills with satisfying warmth. You’re reminded of the feeling of sitting inside a cozy house, cradling a hot drink in your hands, wrapped in a blanket, and watching a fall storm outside your window. The serenity causes the muscles in your face to relax. Your limbs hang more comfortably as your clothes start to feel softer. A small smile spreads from cheek to cheek. The thing that haunts the upper floors can't detect you. You have all the time in the world. Your skin sings as if bathed in the warm rays of the sun in a quiet field of wildflowers. You haven't felt this right in ages.

  You walk for another half-hour. Navigating has become a breeze and you quickly reach the lowest part of the base. The information you seek is close, you can feel it! You turn a corner and at the end of the new hall, you see another boxy hatch. As you spot it, your assurance swells in your chest. You approach with no apprehension, certain that whatever is behind that door will be the secret weapon you need. Your fingers wrap around the cool metal handle and begin to twist. The steel creaks and the hatch swings open.

  Not three feet from you is an angel from on high. It has arrived to help you banish the corruption that grips the world! Dozens of divine eyes scan the area around you, their vision protecting you from evil. The circular dome of its head dips toward you, clear skin allowing you to see the glorious living cogs in its celestial mind. The structures pulse with holy light and wrap around each other like the roots of a great cosmic tree, unique from the flawed creatures on Earth that spend their lives in imperfection. The rest of its body is wrapped in clear skin as well, allowing you to see the bolts from its angelic nerves travel along the length of its floaty form. You see one of its godly organs moving through its body to the edge of one of its numerous tentacles. It’s going to bestow part of its life unto lowly me, you realize. Your soul is filled with a happiness you’ve never experienced before and you open your arms to receive the angel’s embrace.

  Before you can ascend, your joy is shattered by the head of a sledgehammer crushing the soft body of the angel. You scream as the metal bludgeons the vulnerable, boneless creature of Eden. As a cry leaves your lungs, you try to grapple the ragged demon that threatens your salvation. However, the beast effortlessly throws you to the ground and continues its assault on your savior. Searing pain shoots up and down your limbs as the blows rain down on the creature. Tears stream down your face as you see the delicate organs smashed by the evil weapon. Your world is ending. You lament the rest of your life, as you know you will never feel at peace again.

  Clarity snaps through your system like crackling ice. Your bearings have been reset, and the discombobulation leaves you dizzy. The rhythmic thudding of the sledgehammer grounds you and brings you back into the real world. When your vision settles, you see someone tenderizing what looks like a six-foot-tall mass of tentacles and blue blood. The worm-like organs in its dying body attempt to wriggle out, only to be swiftly flattened. One in particular slowly oozes out of the end of one of the tentacles, writhing and contorting like a snake coiling in its last moments. It becomes still after a few seconds, then the hammer comes down on it to make sure the life has fully left it. The creature's body now resembles thoroughly ground meat dyed blue, but you doubt it looks any more alien than it did when it was whole. While you try to process what just happened, the figure yanks you to your feet.

  “You’re lucky that’s not wrapped around your brain right now.” They point to the crushed, coiled thing that wriggled out of the dead mass. “Another few seconds and you would have been lost.”

  You stumble as you try to take a step. “Who are you?”

  “Ridley,” the figure replies. “Come on, it’s not safe here.”

  After a few steps, you regain your physical composure, but you’re still stuck on the creature that must have stolen your thoughts. The change was temporary, thankfully, but was a few short moments away from permanence. You follow the only speaking person you’ve found since you boarded, doing your best to push away the anxious thoughts of what might have happened if they hadn’t been there to help.

  You’re not moving for very long when Ridley stops at a door. They look around quickly, then press a button on the wall nearby. The door opens and they beckon you, hand jolting with urgency. The two of you get inside and Ridley closes the door with a sturdy thud. A large, unknown machine composed of countless gears, pistons, and metal slabs takes up most of the room. A small table holds one of the trays from the cafeteria, although quite a bit cleaner than the others. The half-eaten green paste on it fills the room with a familiar and awful smell. The strange survivor removes their boots and gloves with a sigh. Now that you get a look, you can see how strained they look. Their movements are careful and precise, but carry the torpor of a deeply ingrained weariness.

  “They can’t see us when we’re in here,” Ridley says. “I’m pretty sure it’s the lead in the walls.”

  “The things upstairs don’t seem to see at all,” you reply, keeping a safe distance from the unkempt fighter.

  “The thralls aren’t the ones seeing. Those Jellyfish things see for them. Got some kind of infrared or something similar.”

  You rub your eyes. “How did it take control of me so easily? They made me want that thing in my head.” The more you think about it, the more your stomach bile rises. “What the fuck did they do to me?”

  Ridley shakes their head, quickly glancing around the room and keeping an eye on the dark corners. “They cause some kind of pulses. Lets them influence people. That’s how they made thralls of the original crew.”

  “Why can’t they do it to you then?”

  Ridley gets up and searches a pile of rubbish taking up a small portion of the room. They fish out a set of heavy boots and thick gloves, then toss it to you. “Anti-vibration gear dampens the pulses. I can still feel some influence, but they can’t take control.” Then they retrieve a jumpsuit from a hook in the corner and hand it to you as well. “Plus, lead-fitted clothes. Lucky this is here or I’d have had no chance at all.” Ridley taps the machine in the middle of the room. “Shakes too much to operate without dampeners and the radiation requires lead.”

  You start putting on your new clothes, more and more questions coming to you before you can even state them aloud. “How long has it been like this down here? Where did these Luna come from?”

  Your companion shrugs, wide grey eyes peering at you out of a dented helmet they haven’t taken off yet. “Fuck, if I know. I haven’t been able to keep time. One day I go up to the mess hall after a long shift and my coworkers just start attacking me, trying to take off my boots. I didn’t know why, but the way those creepy bastards moved told me that whatever they wanted, I wanted to prevent. I managed to lose them, and once I was clear, I put my helmet and gloves back
on just so I wouldn’t have to carry them. Apparently, the best damn idea I could’ve had. They couldn’t see me anymore when I was covered head-to-toe.”

  You gaze at Ridley’s hunched yet graceful gait as they pace around the room. You ponder a moment and the pieces of the puzzle begin to quickly fall into place. You realize what you need to do. “Listen, Ridley,” you say quietly. “This place needs to be destroyed.

  "I agree. Those Jellyfish fuckers need to die," they reply. "But not with me in it. I saw that tiny sub you came on. There’s no room for two. I didn't stay alive all this time just to die now. I will see my family again.” Ridley’s eyes narrow with tenacity.

  “These things are destroying the world!” you snap. “We can’t let them continue what they’re doing or all humanity might become thralls!”

  Ridley stops pacing. "I knew they were making thralls and sending them back up, but they’re basically empty puppets. How the fuck are they blending in enough to take control up there too?"

  "They must have some way of making them more sophisticated," you muse. "We have to find out how and end it. Or try at the very least."

  The ragged survivor is silent for a minute as they resume pacing. As the tension in the room grows, Ridley lets out a sigh, one that’s been building ever since they were trapped alone several thousand feet below the surface of the ocean. They fall into a silence that stretches on for many agonizing minutes.