The Boneyards of Nebula

by Rod Little

  “I know,” said Gena, confused by the explanation. “I'm from here, remember. We used to grow these in our backyard.”

  “Ah. Right.” The guard had almost forgotten: fruit was only new to his people. “Anyway, I guess you'll be off in a few days. Relax and try to get comfortable, as much as you can.”

  “What's your name?” Gena asked.

  “Erakan,” he said.

  “Any chance we can get a beer,” John said. “You know, to drink?”

  “I don't know what beer is,” Erakan said. “But there is water in that receptacle over there. I think something else will be brought in later.”

  “Come on,” the other guard said impatiently. “We have more to do. Let's go.”

  “Well, thanks for the orange,” Gena called out, as the two soldiers left the cell.

  “Thanks,” John echoed.

  Erakan gave a half-wave and trotted after his comrade.

  “They seem nice enough,” John said. “Seems odd they're invading our planet. You'd think they're more likely to invite us to a barbecue than to kill us off. Can't quite figure them out.”

  “Strange times,” Gena said. “Who knows. Probably ain't more than a few guys at the top who wanted all this mess to happen. It's never the soldiers at the front line who want the war, you know.”

  “Right you are,” John said. “Right you are.”

  “A few more days, and I guess we'll be on our way. I heard that place in the sky is pretty racked up.” Racked up was her way of saying: nice, well-furnished and loaded with food. Her weekend barbecues, once a month, first weekend like clockwork, were always racked up. They always put out a good spread. Cooler was always filled with beer and soda.

  “I hope so,” John grumbled, rubbing his lower back with one hand. “My ass is sore form this damn bench. We've not exactly been given the red carpet here, that's for sure.”

  “They ain't our people, John. But up in the sky, that ship is gonna be our people. So I heard. All of 'em are from down here on Earth.”

  “Damnedest thing. What a mess.”

  “Just get some sleep, babe.” She held his hand tight and closed her eyes. “Don't think too much.”

  John used his left hand to pull a handkerchief from the top pocket of his gray flannel shirt. He swiped his forehead. It came back with sweat and a little bit of dirt. He wanted a shower. That's what he wanted most of all: a shower.

  And a beer.

  My two last wishes in life.

  “Wonder if I'll ever get either one,” he murmured as he slipped into a nap.

  Chapter 15

  George's quick reflexes never failed him. He pulled up his rifle in one fluid stroke and blew the creature in two. It twitched on the floor and died instantly. The pulse rifle was more powerful than any Earth gun, and it didn't need to speak twice. Once was always enough.

  The floor shimmered white with a pool of milky blood gushing from the two halves of the body.

  Sam bent down and collected a sample of its blood and locked it in a fresh vial. He grimaced as he put it away in his pocket.

  “Watch your feet,” Sheni said. “It's slippery.”

  She stepped over the dead body, and the others followed. In the hallway, she tapped an intercom and called out to her teammates. No one answered.

  George moved ahead and kicked the bloody boot aside, but Sheni had already seen it.

  “Look, if you're trying to shield me to save my hurt feelings, don't bother,” she barked. “Our crew was only put together two months ago, and we're all professionals. I did like a few of them – I'll really miss one or two. But we weren't married! I'm a scientist, and I knew the risks. If they're dead, they're dead. But if they're alive, I need to know. We need all the help we can get.”

  “Lovely human being you've found here,” Bohai whispered, and Sam shrugged.

  George leaned into Sam and said, “I like her,” as he passed and marched further down the hall, back toward the Praihawk.

  Dexter's voice was broadcast through the helmets again: “Can someone please tell me what's going on? I heard a shot fired.”

  “We're heading back with one survivor,” Sam reported. “And we killed a... thing.”

  “A Saratu,” Sheni corrected him. “They're called Saratu.”

  “Saratu are a myth,” Dexter said. “They died out with the dinosaurs and the merapods.”

  “Well, I got news for your friend,” Sheni said. She had heard Dexter's voice through Sam's helmet speaker. “Tell him they are real. And they are blocking our way out of here.”

  Two silhouettes formed shapes to make her words come true. Their shadows cast long down the hall.

  Three meters ahead of them, two Saratu half-crept, half-slithered into view, crossing the floor between them in a slow calculated crawl. Another one appeared on the ceiling, as if conjured from the shadows by Sheni's ill omen. The dim hallway and flickering lights only added to the terror of their advance. The creatures made a clicking sound with their mouths, an unnerving cacophony that filled the hall. It was as disorienting as it was frightening.

  “They have a doll's eyes,” Sam marveled. “I've never seen anything like 'em.”

  George leveled his pulse rifle and exploded the closest creature. The other two raced forward, and he blew the one off the ceiling. Bohai caught the other with the pipe; he deftly swung it twice, knocking the creature back. Sam put a bullet in it's mid-section, but that only caused it to pause. George finished it with his rifle.

  “I told you,” Sam said. “Hard as hell to shoot with these gloves on!”

  In that instant, a tile in the ceiling collapsed, and a dozen Saratu came down on their heads, all of them making clicking sounds. The humans swept backward into the control room, firing their weapons in rapid succession. The control room doors started to close, but one creature jumped forward and stopped the doors with its claws. Its arms pried them open wider. Bohai stepped forward and swung his pipe, and sent the creature flying back.

  The door snapped shut.

  “Dammit,” George shouted. “Dexter you've gotta do something to get us out!”

  “I'm a little busy now,” Dexter's voice crackled on the speakers. “I've got problems of my own.”

  Dexter first noticed the extra heat signatures when they were already on board. It was too late; something else was on his ship and moving toward him.

  Immediately he sealed off the bay doors, cut off the Praihawk from the Neptune science ship, and also sealed the inner doors leading to his control room. However, the three red dots on his screen showed they were already deep inside the ship – on the other side of the door.

  He activated the door lock, but it wouldn't work. Something was blocking it. A set of claws started to pry the doors apart. Two long claws pushed through, and then two disfigured paws. Dexter scanned the room for any weapons, and found one revolver. It had two bullets. All the other weapons were locked up in the ship's aft.

  “Poor planning,” he scolded himself. “If you're not prepared for the worst, you are not prepared at all.”

  George's voice enjoyed static as it called for help. The team was in trouble, but he had his own problems. Now he aimed the pistol at the door and waited. Three creatures and two bullets.

  “I'll improvise,” he said out loud, but he had no real notion of what he might do.

  The creature got the doors open wide enough to crawl halfway through, and Dexter shot it once in the eye. It shook with a seizure and expired, but its body kept the door open. That allowed another creature to step on the first as a springboard. It crawled into the room and sprang toward Dexter. He fired his gun, but the bullet hit the beast's neck. A wound, but not a fatal one. It snarled, then recovered its footing and raced toward the man. Dexter kicked out with both feet, and knocked the creature aside, but he knew that wouldn't work again.

  What a disappointing way to die, he thought.

  The creature sprayed saliva over him as it climbed upon his chest. It opened its jaws, and De
xter raised an arm to shield his face. The Saratu clamped down on his arm, but did not bite through. It stopped short before sinking its fangs in, and slumped dead on top of the man.

  Dexter inhaled, scooted out from under the beast, then exhaled. From there he saw the spider, Teak, on top of the Saratu. Teak's fangs were deep in the creature's head, injecting it with poison.

  Dexter stood up, his arm throbbing and bleeding. He kicked the first creature to make sure it was dead. Then he saw a the third Saratu, also dead from spider poison. He looked back at the body behind him, and Teak was still on top of it. The Saratu's body started to shrivel up. The spider was injecting it with a toxin to liquefy and drink its fresh prey.

  “Are you eating that?” Dexter asked, not really expecting an answer. “Oh, that's very unsettling.”

  Dexter collapsed in a chair at the console and groaned from a pain in his side. “Bon appetit. I'm glad one of us can eat.”

  Shouting and gun fire swelled across the speakers; the others were pinned down and in trouble. Dexter tried to think straight, to come up with a rescue plan. He dropped the empty gun on the floor, and cradled his bleeding arm.

  “I'm out of bullets,” he said to Teak. “How about you?”

  Bohai poked two buttons on the door panel, and the door snapped shut again. However, clicking sounds over their heads indicated the next attack would be from the ceiling... and at any moment.

  George looked up. “You know, this pulse rifle could blow a hole in the ship, if I shoot straight up, and that would suck us all into space.”

  “Your point being?” Sam asked.

  George pulled a pistol from his belt. “I'm gonna have to go old-school. Not as effective.”

  “Aim for the head and eyes,” Sheni said. “And give me a weapon. You have a knife?”

  George plucked a small automatic pistol from his belt and handed it to her. “Eyes open when you shoot. And for God's sake, don't shoot any of us.”

  “I'm a scientist, not a soldier. I don't know how to use a gun!”

  “Well, you better learn pretty fast, scientist lady.” George showed her how to disengage the safety. “Aim low with both hands, because the kick will yank you up. And pull straight back on the trigger.”

  She handled the weapon clumsily and nervously, as if it were a poisonous cactus.

  “Grab it!” George yelled at her. “Both hands. It's not gonna bite you. But I bet those things up there are gonna try!”

  The gun slipped from her grasp. She picked it up and held it in front of her with both hands.

  Hopeless, thought George. The woman was as bad as her counterparts back on Earth. The Sayan invaders were ruthless, but not gun-savvy.

  A ceiling tile cracked apart, and then two claws came through. More clicking chattered above them. The tile collapsed completely and came crashing to the floor. They jumped aside just in time to avoid getting hit on the head by chunks of hard-insulation and metal. Dust rained down from the ceiling hole, and two creatures poked their heads through. They snarled and dripped saliva from their skeletal jaws.

  “That's disgusting,” Sam blurted, and fired two rounds with his pistol.

  The eye exploded on one beast, and it plunged down through the hole, thrashing around in pain. George fired his pistol, and it dropped dead. Another creature scrambled through the hole to take its place.

  George activated the door to the hallway. “This box is a death trap. We gotta move!”

  The hallway was already filled with creatures, seven by Sam's count, but more and more were clawing down from the ceiling in the control room. George fired five rounds into the hall, and the four humans fought their way out of the control room.

  Their backs to the door, they faced the corridor and drove forward into the melee of alien creatures. One Saratu scaled the wall and scampered across the ceiling. Bohai and Sam shot it at the same time; its body fell at their feet, and its blood mixed with the other dead monster already blocking the hallway. They climbed over the two bodies and continued moving forward.

  Two creatures charged them and one grabbed Sam by the foot. It dragged him to the ground and tried to pull him back to its friends. Sam kicked, as he slid away down the hall. George opened fire with his usual precision, taking out the offending creature without hitting Sam. Bohai grabbed his friend by the arms and yanked him back away from the front line. The floor became slippery with alien blood, making it easier to drag his friend.

  Another ceiling tile cracked, plummeted, and more creatures flooded the hallway. This looked less likely to be a possible escape. Bohai pulled Sam into the side room, a laboratory to the left, and George pushed Sheni in after them, then continued firing and backed inside. He closed the door, but heard scraping on the other side.

  Clicking and scratching raked above them.

  Bohai pointed up. “It's only a matter of time before these ceilings crack open, too.”

  “What kind of a two-bit ship has ceiling tiles!” George griped.

  “A science ship,” Sheni said prosaically. “For decontamination and air flow–”

  “Well, it sucks.”

  Sam stood up, yanked his gloves off, unfastened his helmet and threw both aside. He stepped out of his hazmat suit, crumpled it in a corner, and breathed real air.

  “What the hell! What are you doing?” George asked.

  “I can't shoot a gun with these damn gloves on, and I might need to use my spark. She seems okay breathing in here.”

  “Might is not the word,” Bohai said. “You will have to use your spark, man!”

  “You're Sayan?” Sheni asked. “You have the spark? Really?”

  “No. And yes. I have it. How about you?”

  “Yes, I can, but how does that help us?”

  “Use it as a weapon. Aim it from your fingers. Push out, like throwing a ball.”

  “I don't know how to do that.”

  “What do you know how to do, lady?”

  “I can kick your ass, if you don't stop yelling at me. I've been through enough this week.”

  Something heavy hit the door. The Saratu were throwing their bodies against the frame, trying to get in. Several clambered over each other to have another try. Others went through the ceiling, and as expected, it began to crack above their heads.

  “Get ready to open the door,” Sam said.

  “You sure?” George asked.

  Bohai didn't wait; he slammed his hand on the control panel that opened the door wide, then jumped aside. Five beasts snapped at the air and fell over each other into the room. They scrambled to get up and attack anew, but they would not get the chance.

  Sam shot his spark out in a wide blue arc and filled the doorway with an electrical wave. Blinding white and yellow soon turned into a stream of orange and blue. Sparks exploded, and the group covered their eyes. The creatures sizzled, twitched on the floor, and either died or fell unconscious. The walls were singed black, but the hull had not been breached.

  A sharp thwang echoed in the hallway.

  They rushed out of the lab and back into the hall, seconds before the lab's ceiling imploded. A dozen creatures came crashing down, but Sheni snapped the door shut before the creatures could escape the lab.

  In the hallway Dexter stood with George's spear gun in both hand. He had shot the last of the creatures blocking the hall, and a spear now jutted from its skull. It twitched, and Sam put it out of its misery with a final ray of spark.

  “Good shot,” George said, admiring his own spear gun in Dexter's hands. For once, he had respect for the alien scientist.

  “Let's go,” Dexter said, and turned away. He rested the speargun on his shoulder and strutted back to the Praihawk without waiting for an answer.

  Chapter 16

  Panic spilled through the station faster than Shane had hoped. The past few months of complacency had given the group a new hope, but now that sense of security was being threatened. This new home might become their graveyard, as each deck started filling up with the strang
e new creatures. Sightings were being reported in all areas, all levels, even in some of the sleeping quarters.

  In the main control room, Bem struggled to isolate the creatures from the humans on the sensor array, but had little success.

  “I cannot determine their numbers or locations,” he told Walter. “Perhaps if you could restrict your companions to one area, I could locate the remainder of the new beings on the station.”

  “I understand,” said Walter. He looked at Shane and Camila with a pleading expression.

  “I'll see if we can arrange that,” Camila said. “It won't be easy, especially with the new arrivals – they have a mind of their own.”

  Shane grunted. “I'll ask Stu for help. Where should we cage them. Because many will see the restriction as a cage, you know.”

  “The lounge on deck number 2,” Bem suggested. “It contains only two entry points, which can easily be guarded, and only one air vent to be monitored.”

  “Comfortable enough,” Walter said. “There are worse cages to be kept in.”

  Jones sprinted into the room and panted heavily. “Someone else was attacked. One of the new people. A creature bit his leg. He's in the operating room now, might lose the leg, but should live.”

  “Dammit,” Shane cursed. “And the creature?”

  “Dead. Mitch shot it in the head.”

  “Good.” Shane hadn't warmed up to Mitch yet, but at times like these he did appreciate the man's skills with the gun and lack of fear to use it. “Get the dead creature out of sight, fast as you can.”

  “Take it to my lab,” Walter interjected quickly before anyone could suggest otherwise. He wanted more specimens to examine. “I want to study it and compare it to the other two bodies. I'll go with you, Mr. Jones.”

  “It's just Jones, guy, but okay. Follow me.”

  Shane turned back to Camila. “Come on, help me get everyone into the lounge. Deck 2. This won't be easy, and you're more likable than I am.”

  Camila agreed, smiled and followed him.

  “What shall I do?” Bem asked.