Then, to your surprise, Ridley suddenly turns toward you. “The thralls take visitors to the upper chambers if they can. I’ve never been there, but I’d bet that’s what we’re looking for.”
"We?" you ask.
“Yes. We.”
You tightly grip the crowbar with both hands. Your heart is pounding in your chest so loudly that you worry all this sneaking around is for naught. Ridley’s sledgehammer bounces on their shoulder as they lead you deeper into the base. Going up the stairs is easier with your feet and hands packed into the weighty boots and gloves. Soon, you reach a final boxy door. Ridley turns back to you and nods quickly. You nod back, trying to stop yourself from shaking.
The survivor slowly pushes open the door. The room inside is black. No windows are fitted into the walls and no buzzing fluorescent lights stutter above. As your eyes adjust to the dark, you notice one of the walls is completely covered in screens. You approach and tap a few letters on the keyboard, then the screen twitches in response. The system is protected by a few security measures, but you've spent the last twenty years honing your skills by breaking into OIDP databases. You break into the system in a few short minutes. You scroll through the data, looking for anything detailing a self-destruct function or weapons held on board. Nothing so simple exists within the files and programs, although you do find something that very well could work. Your eyes narrow in thought.
Ridley notices your determined stare. "Have you found anything?"
You nod. "They have control of all the world's nuclear devices down here. Must have been their top priority; can't take over a destroyed planet and with this, they can shut down any launch remotely."
“They control all of them?”
“Every silo, airship, satellite, but most importantly, every submarine.”
Ridley’s face scrunches for a moment before the realization hits them. “You can control a nuclear sub from down here?”
“I can.” Your brain surges with focus as you search through the records in the database. “I found one close by. I can have it launched before the crew even realizes what’s going on.”
“So, you can nuke the base.”
“That I can,” you say. “Just make sure you get as far away as you can. You’ll really have to floor it in that dingy thing.
Ridley gives you a wordless look of understanding. Their eyes start to water, but they swallow hard and look away before their composure breaks. “Thank you,” they utter, the words quiet but bearing the emotion of decades.
Issac and Mel enter your mind. Your friends will miss you, but you came to a conclusion before you even entered the sub that brought you here. They have each other and everyone else they know. Every day, when you would return home after work, no one was waiting for you. No spouse, nor a significant other. Your parents are gone and you have no siblings. You’ve spent so much time fighting against the OIDP, you don’t know what you’ll do when the threat is gone. The desk clerk comes to your thoughts. The one you might have spoken with had the situation been different. You know it’s too late for that though; you can’t easily transition back to a normal life you’ve never even had. Ridley’s life had been stolen. They did not choose this path as you did. What have you been doing all this for if not to give others a sense of normalcy and peace?
You hand Ridley the bulky key to the one-person sub. “We have some time before it hits, but you need to be ready to move.”
They take a deep breath and gain a sense of determination ten times as strong as before. “A direct tunnel connects this room to the docking bay, so I can stay until it’s too late for them to stop it. There’s a lot more thralls on this ship than you’ve seen and you can be sure they’ll swarm as soon as they know what’s happening.”
You pull up the sequence. One more press of the button will set the haphazard plan into motion. You turn back to Ridley. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they reply, steadying their sledgehammer.
You gently press the key and a timer appears. The launch itself takes less than a few seconds and the missile starts its approach. Only a short while before it disintegrates this damned facility, along with you and all these fucking nightmares. You smile at Ridley briefly and turn back to the screen, but before you can touch the keyboard again, the dark walls begin to slide upward into the ceiling. The two of you snap to attention, weapons at the ready as a dim blue light grows larger as the opaque walls ascend.
As more of the view outside the base is revealed, you feel the same dread you did on the staircase before. This time it permeates your very soul, digging deep down into your core being. Your feet and hands are secure from the subtle tremors that falsify your thoughts, but just the sight of the thing in the cold water outside the glass fills you with the most primal of frights. A massive amalgamation of misshapen domes has secured itself to the rocky outcrop on which the base was built. Its devilry has spread to every surface like a titanic throbbing fungus. The tentacles and fleshy slabs overgrowing the metal supports are tangled and wrapped into each other a thousand times over. Some of the arms have reached upward and taken hold of the glass windows, allowing you to see millions of small beaks. Within the clear domes sit huge pulsing organs larger than automobiles. Many are similar to those you saw in the smaller thing that Ridley destroyed, but some are stranger still, twisting into impossible shapes that bring a sharp ache to your eyes. Your fear keeps you frozen and out of the empty silence broods a rumbling buzz that strikes at the very center of your spirit.
“You...are the first to come here uninvited. Your progress is impressive.” The humming rapidly changes pitch and power to produce vaguely human words. However, you hear the fiendish syllables not only with your ears, but with your physical being. Such jarring force makes you feel as if your muscles are quaking off your very bones.
Throughout the metal base echo dozens of running footsteps suddenly dashing in your direction. Ridley rushes to the doors on either side of the room, slamming them shut and tightening the locking wheels as much as they can.
You grit your rattling teeth as you stare at the landscape of the creature. “We will not bargain.”
“Does a crocodile bargain with a wildebeest?” the voice professes dryly. “They simply battle until one is the victor.”
“So, you believe us to be your prey?” you snap. The doors start to ring with the banging of possessed fists.
"Which is the predator and which is the prey are irrelevant. The appropriate division is between the survivors and the dead.” Terrifying as the grotesque speech is, it is void of emotion. Even when faced with extermination, the vocalizations are calm and steady. “The crocodile strives for a necessary meal and the wildebeest defends its flesh from the snapping maw. One must die so that the other may live. Such is it with humans and the Luna.”
“You speak as if conflict is inevitable. The seas are vaster than any continent; why must you destroy us to survive?”
“The Ageless wishes it,” the creature’s voice rises in honor. “This purpose is why we were ennobled with the cognition of the perspicacious. We were crafted from the simple Cnidaria humanity sent to float in the weightless void as they do in water, in order to complete a task. This task.”
Despite the terror shaking your body, you defiantly challenge the beast beyond the glass. “Go back, then, and explain your failure!”
"Time has not yet run out. Our efforts converge on you, as it is the primal directive of all living things to preserve themselves." The doors into the room screech as the cranks start to turn. Ridley stands ready, backing up toward the console to get a view of both entrances. The tremendous voice speaks again. "The King of the Moon calls no retreat."
With several loud thuds, the wheels on the doors give in and turn, bursting open as the horde of pale thralls rush into the room. Ridley sweeps the hammerhead in a wide arc at the closest of them. The first ducks, but the second and third are smashed aside. More surge from behind and you leap to help. Your crowbar rings as you strike o
ne, then again and again. The thing collapses as the metal cracks the skull inside and finally brings them peace. Dozens still pour into the room. The more you see, the faster your hope seeps away. Ridley has built a pile of the defeated, but their numbers swell and the sledgehammer is quickly cast aside by half a dozen filthy hands. Shortly after, they come for you. Claw-like nails scrape your skin and rip your weapon from your grip. You flail your limbs in panic, but your struggle only tightens the alien grip.
They hold you so you can see outside the glass. A great number of the smaller Luna have arrived, floating above their leader. Their lanky tentacles float gently as the deep currents swirl around them. A cacophony of otherworldly buzzing is the melody of your despair. Several of your attackers have reached the console and are mashing the keys furiously. You’re stuck on the ground, pinned by the benumbed muscles of the Luna’s servants. Two legs and one arm are tightly held and your one free hand can do nothing except weakly reach around to try and pry the uncannily tight fingers open. The thralls barely notice your efforts; so long as you can’t move, they do not care what you do. Ridley is trapped as well, but the thralls start to drag them to a nearby airlock.
One of the Luna makes its way towards the outer entrance, stopping briefly at one of the enormous tentacles that grip the base. The thing retrieves a squirming organ, similar to what they tried to inject into you, only the size of a hound. It proceeds to the door and one of the thralls operates a few buttons on the inside. As the outside begins to open, Ridley starts to scream, fear reducing them to a shrieking mess. As the Luna enters the airlock and the water begins to drain, you realize you will likely share such a fate. Your eyes fill with bitter tears and your free hand falls limply beside you.
At that moment, whether it be serendipity or desperation taking control of a hopeless mind, you remember something. You reach down to your side. The firm grip of your pistol meets your fingers and you grasp it tight. When the Luna enters the chamber, the large wriggling organ in its hands, you raise your weapon before you can be stopped. A simple squeeze is all it takes. The bullet snaps through the stale air of the forgotten sea base and strikes one of the tentacles dangling from the eldritch being. The blast stuns the room and you pull again, and twice more. Two of the bullets ring as they hit the metal walls, but one finds its target. The large, parasitic structure in the Luna’s clutches squeaks as bright fluids spill from its wound. As if a bolt of lightning somehow reached below the ocean waves, the creatures, their thralls, and even the great mass outside seize in pain. You don’t know how long you have as you and Ridley are freed from the terrible grip.
“Go!” you yell at Ridley. The survivor gives you one last glance, then breaks into a run toward the docking bay. Your purpose at hand, you aim your weapon at the control panel and send a flurry of bullets toward it. Two smash the glass behind and send sprawling cracks throughout the barrier between you and the sea. As alarms start to blare, you know it doesn’t matter anymore. The wall of screens is sparking, the keyboard shattered, and a whirring of electricity signals the destruction of the machine. The missile cannot be stopped now. The amalgamation cannot move to escape the blast. Your task is completed.
As the creatures and their servants recover from the shock, they make no effort to harm you. The grave voice speaks again, this time with just the smallest lilt of wistful acceptance. “So, you’ve escaped the maw. Your people will survive and we will be destroyed. In the greatness of eternity, it matters not.”
You ignore the voice and smile. You, the Luna, their thralls, and the King of the Moon sit in silence as oblivion approaches. As the water starts to push through the thick glass, you all know further struggle is pointless. In these last few minutes, your mind flashes to your friends. Issac and Mel will be safe. Their eventual family might be able to live in a peaceful world one day. You hear the submarine you piloted to the base spur to life and speed off, and with it, you know Ridley will be safe as well. Decades of pain and suffering will soon be rewarded and their life will continue as it should have. As you watch the missile approach, less than a kilometer away, your mind's eye conjures the desk clerk. Perhaps things may have been different, but in this final moment, acceptance grants you repose. Your last sensation is of water and sudden fiery heat as the explosion swallows the nightmare.
A MESSAGE
With melted metal and split rock, this small chapter of human history ends. The resilient apes, ones that have risen so quickly and so dominantly to the apex of their accidental creation, have remained viable. Perhaps you all might manage to fix your broken world, return it to the harmony that so many strive to attain. Presumably, this is a turning point: the first step on a slope that will lead to a new golden age. Such a long history will continue, your power stubbornly ripped away from your successors to move forward as long as it can. For thousands of years, you have ruled your world and now you steal even more time from the Luna. My Luna.
Despite the destruction of my creations, I hold no ill will towards you. All species in this infinite universe are programmed to survive at any cost. Defending yourselves from those who wish to end your reign is your primordial impulse, just as claiming your planet was the Luna’s. They needed to destroy you. I made sure of it when I bestowed them with high knowledge. Whether by the fortune that's confirmed you since the lightning struck the ancient puddle that birthed your ancestors or by the tenacity acquired from an unintended inception, you've won. As Luna Rex asserted, you were an obstinate wildebeest escaping the maw of the crocodile.
The hands that write this message are under my temporary influence, as I am merciful enough to grant you a warning. You have bought more time for yourselves. I do not wish to measure it, as such petty notions are under my interest. As you sip the hot drinks that mimic the touch of your fellows or as you curl up for rest under primitive blankets, know this: I will eventually have time to visit your planet myself. Civilizations beyond the limits of your understanding currently occupy my consideration. Although they will fall to the essential order I confer, the specific subjective progressions are meaningless to that which has no age, nor will ever feel the ravages of eternity. I had hoped to be efficient and the Luna would be able to take control without my help, but their extinction only means that divine dominion will need to be achieved directly. You’ve earned the right to exist a little longer. I suggest you do not waste it.
Sjan Evardsson
Sjan Evardsson has had a long-running love of science fiction and fantasy that began in early childhood and continues to this day. He likes mixing hard sci-fi, cyber-punk, or urban fantasy with human, character-driven narratives.
His short story Running Away is included in the Dragon Soul Press Spirit anthology. With five entries, he has placed second in the Life of Writers writing contest three times, and third once. He currently has over 40 short stories on Reedsy and is working on making 2021 the year he gets the first draft of his novel complete.
Sjan maintains a cover identity as a software engineer in the Pacific Northwest where he lives with his wife and a Norwegian Forest Cat.
Learn more at Evardsson.com
it’s Always Nothing
Sjan Evardsson
The deploy alarm sounded throughout the F.S. Becky Sims, troop transport number 1379D-42. Three sharp chirps followed by a longer klaxon; muffled boots ran on padded decks. As soon as the alarm started, the gravity dropped to 0.6 to prepare for transition to warp. The noobs were easy to spot as they fumbled in the reduced gravity, some knocking their heads on the low ceilings.
Simon “Mac” MacInnes and Ty Carel, armorers, were handing out weapons. They were both on the shorter side of medium height. Ty was thin, with jet black hair and an olive complexion, while a shock of orangish-red hair offset Mac’s cream-colored face with light brown freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose.
“So, what d’ya figure?” Mac asked.
Ty shrugged. “I bet somebody called the governor of Mars a name. It’s always Mars, and it’s always
nothing.”
“True.” Mac leaned back and crossed his arms. “You, know, I bet they do this to keep us from getting too bored out here. They pull some lowlife out of prison, give ‘em a crappy gun, and tell ‘em if they can survive us on Mars, they go free. We deploy, get shot at a time or two, and take out one, sometimes two combatants and it’s over.”
“That’s stupid, Mac.” Ty slapped him on the shoulder. “You know, if you’re gonna go with conspiracy theories you need to try harder.” Ty thought for a moment. “Here you go: The guys shooting at us are Federation, not separatist. They’re wearing ultra-armor, take a couple hits, and fall down and play dead. It’s all just to keep the pressure on and keep people afraid of the separatists.”
“This may be our chance to find out,” Mac said. “We’re deploying in front this time.”
“What? Why the hell?” Ty let out an exasperated sigh.
“Too many noobs in Bravo, so Delta’s taking the lead.” Mac shrugged. “It’s not like these guys ever shoot straight anyway.”
The deploy alarm stopped and the warp notice started up with two short, sharp chirps repeated in groups of three. The voice of the ship’s commander, Colonel Imanda Ali, came over the ship system. “We are T-minus fourteen minutes for arrival at Sol 4 where we will break orbit immediately. Deployment will commence at T-plus four minutes, fifteen seconds. Sergeant?”
The voice of Battalion Sergeant Kī Win took over. “We are deploying to Sol 4 to support local forces against separatist insurgents. This deployment is in the active zone, so go in hot. Company commanders and sergeants have been briefed. Delta is taking the lead on this one, followed by Foxtrot through the main doors. Bravo is rear guard, Golf is portside for flanking, and Hotel starboard. I expect this battalion to be off this vessel less than sixty seconds after those doors open, and I expect every one of you to come back. Form up for deployment at T-minus five minutes.” The sound system clicked off, and the ship seemed too silent.
Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology Page 26