by Ken Bebelle
Another tug on the rope brought her attention back to the present. Jonesy signaled her to wait again, and he slowly made his way down to her. He stopped next to her fumbling with his gear and the handholds, his usual economy of movement gone with his arm.
“I think we’re down to the next level. Let’s start looking for some way to get back into the ship.”
Cam shifted to her left, scanning the walls with her eyes and hands, looking for signs of another access point. She trailed her fingers slowly over the varied surface of the wall, paying careful attention to any reaction she might have.
After a few minutes of quiet searching, she found it. Her fingers passed a spot that sent a thrill of energy through her hand. She went back to the spot and brought her chemical light closer. Now that she knew where it was, she was surprised she hadn’t seen it earlier. Just looking at it, she knew this was an opening to a holding room on the next level. She didn’t understand how she knew this, but it felt so right she saw no way to argue it.
“Jonesy, it’s here.”
He shuffled back to her. She showed him where the panel was going to open. He nodded and braced his feet on the walls, wedging himself in place. As he brought his rifle up to cover the panel, she had the thought that he was covering her as well. She held his eyes for a moment, there in the darkness. She nodded to him, both in assent and understanding, and she placed her hand on the control.
A cool flow of energy from the ship pulsed into her arm, questing into her body and heart. The feeling of contentment again washed over her, but she fought, pushing it back. It felt like pushing back a wave of water, trying to fight something as amorphous as smoke. The wave pushed past her resistance and through her mind. She felt herself being pulled along, like ore drawn inescapably to a magnet.
Cam felt her mind submerging, being pulled by an inexorable riptide. Her mind slipped away being pulled through a funnel and gaining speed as she rushed to the exit. The sound of rushing water and energy filled her mind, nearly drowning out all sound.
“... --am! … --uck! ... “
A dull flare of pain, far away but insistent and pestering.
Who dares?!
Cam’s mind jerked out of the warm bath of unconsciousness. She had heard two voices, she was sure. One was Jonesy’s, but the other voice had been in her head. She fought, the warm energy around her like sucking quicksand, bitterly cold and numbing. She clawed her way back to herself, back to consciousness, pulling herself up by the strength of her mind. She couldn’t forget Jonesy--she had to get him home!
She opened her eyes. Her hand was still on the control panel, and dim lights played on the wall around her hand, and up and down her arm. She was aware of a dull pain above her right eye. She turned slowly and became aware of heavy panting breathing, suddenly loud in the small space, that was not hers.
Jonesy was next to her, sweating and panting, with the end of his rifle pressing painfully into her head. His finger clenched on the trigger, knuckles tight and straining.
Cam willed the panel open. It popped open with a puff of air. Greenish light spilled into the crawlspace illuminating the panicked and pained expression in Jonesy’s eyes. Beads of sweat glinted across his sallow cheeks. She slowly pulled her hand from the wall, feeling the energy connection break, leaving a small empty hole inside her. Cam raised both her hands.
She looked him in the eye, willing him to understand that she was still herself. “Make up your mind, soldier. But I’d like to get out of here, if we can.”
His finger unclenched and he pulled the barrel of the gun up. She let the tension go from her shoulders, sagging against her footholds. His ragged breathing filled the narrow space with unresolved tension.
Jonesy waved his gun towards the opening and tilted his head. “Why don’t you take point?”
Eight
Lost
JONESY
Jonesy prowled through the alien corridors, maintaining a ten foot distance between himself and Cam in front of him. It was damned jarring to not be at point, but common sense told him he needed Cam where he could keep an eye on her.
The alert lights flashed, making the worst kind of psychedelic lighting nightmare possible. Nothing moved smoothly in the strobing light, instead blinking and jumping like an old film reel. If she timed it right, Cam could easily turn on him in any of the half-a-heartbeat moments of darkness. Jonesy kept his rifle tucked tight to his side, trained on her back as they walked. God, what he wouldn't give for his hand back to hold a sidearm.
Sweat ran down his forehead despite the cold. He shook his head to keep the sweat out of his eyes, but the blurriness in his vision had nothing to do with the sweat. Keeping up with Cam’s steady pace was getting harder, his legs feeling more leaden as they pushed on.
Cam seemed to be fairly normal right now. She hadn't even blinked when he suggested she take point. It made even more sense with the fact that she seemed to know her way around the ship. But the queasy feeling in Jonesy's gut was not a new feeling, and it had never been wrong about shit going sideways.
She stopped at the next intersection and almost seemed to sniff the air. Jonesy’s enhanced hearing picked out Hunters searching for them, pounding down hallways, but they were all at least two decks above.
Jonesy closed his distance by a couple steps. “What is it?” He whispered.
She continued to move her head around like she was trying to follow a smell. “Something's missing. We missed something.”
“Yeah, the dozen...assholes hunting us down. We missed them. Good.”
“No, no. I mean something is missing. Think about all the uniforms and equipment we raided. Where are all the other prisoners?”
She cocked her head to the side, listening. “Why aren't we hearing anyone else? All the noise we've been making. I'd be screaming my head off to get someone's attention.”
Jonesy thought back to the equipment room. His thoughts swam in useless circles. He fought to bring his focus back. “Remember all those...buckets? The smell? Everyone else...is probably dead. Let's keep going, we...don't have time for this.” He waved his gun down the hallway. He tried not to think about how much the end of the barrel was shaking.
Cam still hesitated. “We should look. At least along our path, without detouring. Who knows if we'll be able to get back here? This might be our only chance to spring any others like us.”
Jonesy checked the hallway behind them. The damn lights were really giving him a headache. Still nothing, but it sounded like the Hunters were coming down a level now. “Keep moving. How many levels...until the docking bay?”
“Three more. All the way to the bottom.”
“Then let’s get going. We’re not helping...anyone if we get...killed here.”
On the next level down Cam stopped again, this time at a closed door. “We need to check inside. I think there’s someone in here.”
“What we need to do is get off this damn ship. And why do you think this door is different from any other?”
Cam shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”
Jonesy closed the distance and got up in her face, feeling frustrated and not bothering to keep it out of his voice. “Cam, your feelings are going to get us killed. We need to keep moving.”
Cam narrowed her eyes and stood a little straighter. “Corporal, we are checking this door. That’s an order. We are not leaving anyone behind if we can help it. Are we clear?”
He remembered that tone. It was pure Lt. Alvarez and it woke him up a little. Nice to hear it again. Jonesy considered their odds for a moment. They had two decks between themselves and the hunting party again. More hands for their extra rifles would be good, too, unless they found some poor sap who needed to be carried out. He lifted his rifle and moved to cover the door. “Ok, LT, whenever you’re ready.”
Cam nodded, crouched low, and palmed the door control. A heartbeat later, the door slid up, releasing a cloud of white mist. Jonesy tightened his grip on the rifle, straining
to hear anything beyond the mist. Nothing. He gave Cam a quick nod and she edged inside the door, sweeping her gun low from left to right. Jonesy stepped up to the left side of the door and stayed outside, watching the interior to the right.
The mist cleared, showing them a circus of horrors. A single wide room contained six massive cylinders, each ten feet high and molded seamlessly into the floor and ceiling. Four men and two women occupied the cylinders, each of them suspended in some kind of translucent gel. All were missing at least one limb. The two men on the far ends were near dead, if not already dead. The room held two of the familiar beds that had held Jonesy hostage. With a grimace he noted the grisly display of sharp tools dangling from the ceiling.
He clenched his teeth at the wave of emotion that rose in him seeing the alien beds and those blades. The shorter Ringhead had loomed over him, cutting and worrying at his arm like a joint of fried chicken. He remembered almost hearing them in his head when they had removed his cybernetic eye. The probing, the pain, the fear. He felt his throat closing up at the sharp, bright memory of agony. Jonesy blinked and focused on Cam as she made a noise.
Cam covered her mouth with her hand and let out another soft, sobbing moan. Jonesy scanned the room. Other than the science experiments, nothing else. He moved back to the door and scanned the hallway. “Cam, whatever we’re going to do, we can’t stay boxed in here.”
“Right.” She palmed the door control again and shut it. She shouldered her weapon and walked up to the stasis tanks. “C’mon, let’s see who we can save.”
The second and fifth tanks held victims whose chests had been flayed open. Biomechanical worms writhed through their chest cavities, intertwining amongst the organs.
The two tanks in the center held a man on the left and a woman on the right. The man was missing both legs. His right thigh bone protruded from the stump of his leg. Biomechanical worms squirmed over the bone.
The woman on the right was in better shape. Her left hand was missing, just above the wrist. Her left leg below the knee was also gone, but replaced with a small version of a Ringhead foot. The blue-black biomechanics grew out of her leg and pulsed steadily. The foot ended in a sharp talon-like claw. Otherwise she looked intact.
Disgust rippled through him. Jonesy spat on the floor. “What the fuck are they doing to us, LT? I never heard about anything like this.”
Cam shook her head. “I don’t think anyone knew about anything like this, Jonesy. That’s why we gotta get back. Let Phillips know. Somehow, this is what the Ringheads want.”
Jonesy looked at the sad stump of his right arm and back at the various victims in the tanks. If Cam hadn’t busted him out, he might be in one of those grow vats now, with alien limbs coming out of his body. The sour taste of fear filled his mouth, threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to get out this place, pronto.
Cam stepped up to woman’s stasis tank. “I guess this is our Sleeping Beauty. Let's see if we can get her out.”
Jonesy watched as Cam palmed the control panel. A soft light lit up the gel from within and began pulsing like a heartbeat. The girl in the tank glowed white in the eerie yellow gel. Her hair fanned out, so blonde and fine, it looked like a silvery net. Freaky as hell.
Jonesy stepped back and raised his rifle, settling on a spot evenly between the LT and the ghostly woman in the gel. Better safe than sorry.
Cam gasped, her eyes shut tight, hand clenching on the controls. “Jonesy! I can hear the ship! It’s talking to me!”
What the fuck?!
Cam’s breath started coming in quick, gasping pants. Her eyes flew open, looking blindly up at the ceiling, her neck craning back to an impossible angle. She fell to her knees, back arching. Her breath rattled in her throat as she continued to gasp raggedly.
Jonesy took another step back and found himself against the wall. Adrenaline surged through his system. Fuckfuckfuck! They should not have come in here. If he’d been thinking straight he would have shot this stupid idea down before it blew up in their faces. Putting Cam down now meant he was going trap himself in this stupid box. He tightened the rifle against his shoulder and settled his sights over her, waiting.
Cam stopped breathing for a moment, then inhaled hugely. Her eyes cleared as she did, and her neck and back relaxed. She slumped a little, but kept her hand on the control. The light in the gel steadied to an even glow of yellow light.
Cam released the control panel and collapsed, her body now strangely still on the deck. He was about to check her vitals when she let out a low moan and flopped over onto her side to face him. “It’s trying to help me.”
She sounded like Cam. Jonesy took a tentative step forward. “LT?”
Her head bobbed but she didn’t get up. “Yeah, still me. Gimme a sec.”
Jonesy stayed where he was and didn’t lower his rifle. “Say again about the ship?”
Cam brought up a hand and scrubbed at her face. “Uhh...the ship is…” She paused, looking confused. “It’s like, alive. Or something.”
Jonesy was seriously sick of all this alien whatthefuckery. His taxed body was already crashing again. He was normally quicker on the uptake. “Like Hestia, back at base?”
She shook her head. “No. No, at least, I don’t...don’t think so.” Cam sat up, rubbing at the back of her neck. She raised her hand to her face, turning it to examine her palm. With a frown, she wiped her palm on her pants, as if trying to clean it. “It’s trying to … correct me.”
Jonesy shook his head, agitated. “LT, this is some fucked up shit. But we have to move our asses.”
Cam looked up at him, and he could see the strain around those deep brown eyes. She nodded, as if in resignation, and stood up. “Yeah, there’s no good way to move her, at least not without me engaging the ship again.”
“Oh, hell no.” Jonesy couldn’t take that shit again. They were only taking that risk to get off this damn nightmare ship. “We can’t risk it. If the ship is...talking to you, that means it can find you. We gotta stay off their radar. We’re gonna have to find another way to spring your girl.”
As if on cue, the girl in the tank opened her eyes.
Nine
Welcome to Project Icebox
MACK
Mack rolled the jeep to a stop at the security checkpoint on the main road leading into the rubble of Segovia. Keenan sat shotgun; he hadn’t said a word for the last ten minutes of the drive, and now seemed lost in his thoughts. Mack glanced at Keenan from time to time, and Keenan’s head would turn slightly back and forth, his soldier’s gaze flicking quickly from one side to the other.
The security perimeter stretched into the desert scrub on both sides of the road, a ten foot fence topped with razor wire. The hum of patrol drones buzzed overhead and in the distance. By nightfall Mack knew the drones looked like a ring of tiny UFOs that endlessly flew the security perimeter, washing the fenceline with spotlights and infrared scanners.
Until Phillips had given him the thumbs up today for this excursion, Mack had been strictly banned from coming back out to Segovia. So of course, that had been the first personal outing he’d taken after Abbé fitted his new leg. He vividly remembered that night, sneaking off base, which was damned near impossible when he’d been trying to figure out how to sign out a vehicle from the depot. In the end, he’d actually run the whole way there and back, an impromptu physical therapy session with his enhanced leg.
While the guard checked their gauntlets for clearance, Mack noted the light dusting of snow on the ground just inside the perimeter. With the windows open, Mack felt the crisp bite of winter--odd for an afternoon in the desert. This guard wore standard gear, but in the distance Mack could see several guards patrolling in cold weather gear. Looked like Stan was still having trouble hacking the iceboxes. If the snow was this far out, then things were getting worse.
The young guard raised the barricade. “You’re cleared for entry. Welcome to Project Ice Box. The main road will take you directly to Dr Abbé’s mobile lab. Th
ey’ll have extra coats for you there.” He waved them through.
The jeep’s tires crunched through the thin ice and gravel on the road as they entered. As they drove up the road, Mack looked up into the rocky cliffs. He could see the locations where he had placed his blast cannons, now shrouded by temporary tents. The silvery fabric reflected the afternoon sun brilliantly. Several squints moved among the tents. As Mack understood it, they were combing the rocks for any trace of alien material.
Mack coughed, cleared his throat. The silence in the jeep was scarier than anything he’d thought to expect. Jesus, he was bad at this.
He pointed out the cliffs to the west. “Um, we--ah--we came down that, that ridge. It was faster to rap down from there than to take the main road.”
Keenan leaned forward and looked where Mack was pointing. Keenan’s dull green eyes showed nothing. No reaction, just more of the thousand yard stare. Christ, this guy was a Sphinx. Mack shifted in the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking, and wondered what it would be like to play poker with him.
Mack kept talking. He had to fill this awful silence. It felt like Cam’s ghost was riding in the jeep with them. “When we -- ah -- first got here, um, we really had no idea what we were gonna find. Drone’s weren’t telling us anything. We just had to get eyes on station, quick.”
Keenan nodded but said nothing in response.
They neared the town center. From the road Mack could see the deck of the pool. His leg twinged a little at the sight of it. Recounting the night to Keenan -- still sitting stoically quiet -- brought a rush of memories back to him. It had all happened only a few weeks ago, but it felt like ages. In Mack’s brain, he now categorized everything either Before Leg or After Leg.