by Phil Rossi
To make matters worse, Nigel was nowhere to be found. As far as Marisa was concerned, he was on his own now. She snapped open her PDA and dialed Gerald. The small LCD indicated that he was not on the station. Interference, Marisa thought dismissively. She set her PDA to keep calling the salvage pilot until it could get through.
Marisa limped out of HQ; her ankle caught fire with each step. A procession of collector robots marched past the T intersection at the end of the corridor. Marisa ducked back into the office before the door had a chance to slide shut. She activated the door lock and pressed her ear to the frosted glass. The sounds of the robots faded. They hadn’t seen her. She hazarded a look into the hallway and found it empty. This was her chance—maybe her only one. She made a break for it, ignoring the pain.
Marisa didn’t feel safe until she was in the maintenance tunnel, the grate firmly locked in place behind her. She had to shuffle along sideways to move forward. Small maintenance drones bounced off her feet, blipping and chirping. She was a trespasser in their cramped domain, and the little machines did not seem pleased about the intrusion. But at least there was no way the collectors could get her in there. The thought brought her comfort, even if her heart did flutter with claustrophobia. After a short distance, the tunnel grew wider and she was able to pick up the pace, despite her injury.
The passage curved. A body flew around that bend from the opposite direction, colliding with her in a tangle of limbs. Their respective cries of surprise were nearly in unison. She shuffled in reverse and got to her feet. Mayor Kendall lay sprawled flat on his back, breathing hard. She couldn’t believe her fucking eyes.
“You!” Kendall growled and struggled to get upright. Marisa did not give him the chance. She grabbed him by the collar and planted her fist in his face. The first punch felt so good, she straddled him and went to town.
No. There’s no time. You have to get to Bean.
Marisa dismounted and kicked the former mayor hard in the ribs. One. Two. Three. He cried out each time. Her bad ankle threatened to give with the last blow, but she maintained her balance. The pain was distant now. She moved away.
“I should’ve… blown you… out the airlock… like your friend Swaren, when I had the chance,” Kendall said between big, gulping breaths.
She stopped and turned. Her lips peeled back in a snarl.
“What did you say?”
Kendall caught his breath. He wiped his hand across his mouth and looked at the resulting blood with a smirk.
“You should have seen his face, Marisa. He looked quite surprised when we opened that hangar door.”
He wants me to stick around out here. He wants me to get distracted…
“You’ll get yours, Kendall. But not from me. There’s a higher power playing here now. And you’ve got no control.”
Hatred and pain could wait for some other time.
Marisa ran.
She ran until spots floated in front of her eyes and her lungs burned. She slowed to a halt only when she feared she would pass out, bending over with hands on her knees, struggling to control her breathing. She dry-heaved twice before composure finally returned. She straightened, and realized in dawning horror that she was lost. In her blind flight, she must have missed one of the turns. An important turn. How far back had it been? Marisa looked back the way she had come, but couldn’t tell.
Her heart began to hammer in her chest again and she doubled over with more dry heaves.
Relax, Marisa, she thought. Main Street should be just up ahead.
The hangars could be reached by crossing the wide thoroughfare—if she survived being out in the open.
Main Street was an embodiment of hell itself. The shops in the bazaar burned. Beyond the sprawling market, jagged holes in the station walls were all that remained of former storefronts. The ruined businesses spewed forth blasts of angry flames. Bodies lay everywhere. The sun globes cycled through color and brightness rapidly. Purple, orange, yellow, orange, purple, white. Shadows, shrunk, lengthened, and changed directions at an alarming rate. It made Marisa’s stomach twist into a knot. She wished she could close her eyes and leap the final distance to the big exit tunnel.
Marisa took a deep breath and looked for the collectors. None were to be seen, so she went for it.
An ear-piercing clang rang out from behind her before she could get very far. Marisa turned, not ready for death, but willing to accept it so long as it wasn’t too painful or prolonged.
Naheela stood outside what had once been a sidewalk cafe. Mutilated corpses sat propped up at the cafe’s tables. Big burning umbrellas lit the grim parody of life in mad, orange light. Naheela stood beyond the tables. She held a metal pipe and trash can lid in her hands. She seemed poised to clang them together again, but when Marisa took notice, the crone dropped them. She waved to Marisa, beckoning for her to come. Marisa jogged to her. Naheela met her at the center of the boulevard.
“Most everyone is either dead or on their way to dead by now. I know that Ina has failed us.” Naheela shook her head, her deep-creased features looked impossibly sad. “You have to get out of here very soon. What I have to do next is final.”
“You need to leave, yourself. Kendall has the station set to gas everything living within the hour,” Marisa said. She breathed through her mouth, but was nearly overcome by the scents of burning hair and flesh.
Naheela chuckled and shook her head. “Don’t you worry about me, dearest. What I’m going to do will be more permanent than a little bit of poison gas.” She put a finger on her chin. “Though, gassing those who have been brought to the Vault and not yet… processed for supper—that could be a blessing for them.” She paused and looked up at Marisa. “No time to listen to me babble. The coast is clear; as far as I can tell, the collectors are all trekking back to the hive now with their last batch for the new-born Other.” She waved her hand. “Get off the station. Go!”
Marisa did not have to be told twice.
Crescent’s main hangar was in chaos. Straggling survivors fought each other to clamber aboard the few lifeboats that remained docked. The biggest mob of them were clustered around the colony ship, climbing frantically one over the other in an attempt to ascend the wide docking ramp. The evacuation was without order. No one took notice of Marisa as she ran to where Bean sat at the far end of the vast chamber. The hauler’s running lights flashed. The engine exhaust ports glowed softly. The vessel was ready for take off, but Bean’s hatch was sealed tight when she reached it. She called the ship’s name, hoping it would recognize her voice and open up, but it did not.
The PDA vibrated in her chest pocket. She retrieved the device. It almost fell free of her sweat-slicked fingers.
“Gerry,” she gasped. On the small display screen, he was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. His face was covered in dirt and blood.
“Where are you? Tell me you’re close.”
“I think I’m close,” he gasped. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Bean.”
“Good. I’ll be there in five minutes—I’m hoping less.”
“Hurry,” she said.
The sound of rending metal came through the phone’s speaker. Gerald cursed.
“Oh, I’m hurrying.”
She closed the phone and looked up. A group of collector robots waded into the crowd of panicked station residents. Blood and rust covered the machines’ exteriors. Eye nodes flared through a tacky coating of viscera and oxidation. The bots began hauling people away—soon, they had them all. Marisa marveled at their savage efficiency. She knew it was pointless for her to hide. The creatures had spotted her and four of them were closing in. She wouldn’t run. Maybe they would take her and leave, allowing Gerald to get on his ship.
“Hey!” Gerald’s voice cried, and she whirled. He was several meters behind her. His head poked out of an open hangar grate. “Talk about a hole in … holy shit!” The robots had already covered half the distance to Bean. She leaned down with an outstretched ar
m and yanked Gerald out of the pit.
“Bean. Bean, open up, you motherfucker!” Gerald shouted. The hatch opened on Bean’s belly and the docking ladder descended. The collectors were too damn close now. Their metal tentacles whipped out in gleaming arcs.
“You first, Gerald. You have to get this bird in the air before I’m even in my seat.” He looked at her but didn’t argue. The pilot bolted up the ladder. His head reappeared at the top.
“Come on, Marisa. Quit fucking around.”
She started up the ladder, but her hands slipped when a rusted tether grabbed her bad ankle and yanked hard. She cried out. Gerald reached for her hand but missed entirely. He wasn’t even fucking close. The collectors dragged her across the deck with a back-jarring pull.
“Go!” she screamed at him. “Go!”
The ladder ascended and the bulkhead sealed. She felt a pang of disappointment, but she knew there was no way he could have helped her. He would have been snagged if he tried.
The pointed tip of a tentacle lanced toward her face. The barbed end missed her by a fraction of a centimeter, but came close enough that Marisa felt a breeze. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the shortest prayer she knew.
(•••)
Gerald practically fell into the control couch. It was all wrong. Why should he be the one to get away unscathed? He could see the collectors dragging Marisa away the through front viewport. All fucking wrong. The collector’s tether should have been around his ankle.
Inspiration struck and he grabbed the manual controls for Bean’s hauling lines. Silvery tentacles flashed out from the underside of the ship. The first thick line hit the collector that had Marisa. It clipped the side of the robot’s metal head, knocking it free of the rusty shoulders. The collector’s long appendages went limp and Marisa fell to the deck. She began crawling toward the ship. Gerald caught her with one of Bean’s other tethers and began to pull her back across the floor. The remaining collector robots changed direction and darted after her with alarming speed. Gerald lashed out again, taking out the legs of one of the big machines. The collector sailed through the air and smashed into the hangar wall with a flash of sparks and smoke. A final robot continued in pursuit, but it was too far behind—nearly half a hangar’s length away.
“I’ve got her on board, Captain,” Bean said a heartbeat later.
“Then get us the hell out of here.”
The collector robot crashed into the front viewport. Gerald jerked back in the control couch with a yell. How did that fucker move so fast? But the robot was mangled. It fell from the viewport, crashing to the deck in a rusted heap. With the window clear, Gerald could see how the robot had closed the gap in a matter of seconds.
It had been launched.
A metal spike had erupted from the hangar floor, sending the robot skyward. The growth was like the murdering shafts that Gerald had glimpsed in Heathen’s, but those barbs had been the size of a bee’s stinger by comparison. This metal protrusion bisected the flight deck and was easily as wide the hauler’s bridge. Another spike burst out of the floor.
It was followed by another. The things continued to sprout from the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Soon, the hangar was raining with brilliant sparks and falling hunks of twisted metal. The floor ripped open and a mass of black, violet, and red erupted like a living torrent of light and dark. It began to take on a shape. That’s it, Gerald thought, it’s becoming.
The colony ship lifted off from the flight deck and careened toward Bean. A second later, a massive spike pierced its belly. The explosion that followed was huge and blinding. Flaming debris bounced off Bean’s hull with thundering impacts.
“Bean,” Gerald commanded, “Go!”
The hauler took off and rocketed out of the firestorm. The small ship roared down the hangar in reverse as more spikes erupted its wake.
And then they were in open space.
The docking hub’s massive glowing portal had become a ring of sharp metal teeth, like the hungry maw of some obscene creature. Before Gerald could consider it further, Marisa was on top of him, peppering his face with kisses.
“You magnificent son of a bitch.” She kissed him long and hard enough that he had to push her away to catch his breath. “You smart piece of shit. When did you get so smart? You fucking son of a bitch!” She kissed him again and again. Her lips tasted salty with perspiration.
“Captain,” Bean said, “I’m detecting major energy fluctuations coming from Crescent.”
(•••)
Kendall staggered into his bed chamber and shrieked when he found Angela sitting at the foot of his large bed. Surprise and fear were quickly replaced by hatred and he lurched toward her with extended arms, intent on strangling the bitch. He would have ripped her throat out if an alarm had not started wailing. Instead, he limped past her and to an emergency closet. There he climbed into a neon orange environment suit and only then did he go to her. He kept his hands at his sides, but could still feel the echo of the snarl contorting his features.
“You look crazy in that suit, you motherfucker. You’re going to die looking like an idiot. You’re going to—” her words were replaced with gurgling, sputtering noises.
Kendall turned then. The room filled with a heavy white fog. He smiled as he watched her claw at her throat, realizing his providence then. Angela was as fine a canary as she was a whore.
Leaving her body, he went to his personal terminal and entered a string of commands into it. The gas vented from his chamber and was replaced with fresh, clean atmosphere. The display screen above the keypad indicated that his air was safe and breathable again. Now all he had to do was wait for Darros to come and rescue him. Kendall’s comm chimed with an incoming message. He removed the environment suit’s helmet and played the transmission. It was audio only and riddled with static.
“The Habeos gate has been destroyed. We have taken heavy casualties. You set us up, Kendall. You are on your own. I hope your death is a long and painful one.”
Kendall swallowed hard.
“What are you gonna do now, old man?” a mocking voice called. Kendall swiveled in his seat.
Naheela stood at the foot of his bed; she knelt beside the dead hooker, examining her with wonder. She touched the flesh of the dead girl’s stained cheeks and brushed away a trickle of blood that had dribbled from one of Angela’s nostrils.
“Still warm,” Naheela said, absently. “I ain’t one for the speeches. Well. That’s a lie. But you ain’t worth a speech. I’m tired, Ezra. Even the ageless get weary. I’m done with this place. I’ll take my chances with my immortality and erase it all. It is time for me to shed the burden of pride. I’ve failed here. But it ends now.”
“What madness are you prattling about now, crone?”
“This is going to hurt, Ezra. Mortal eyes, they cannot handle looking upon the true face of the ageless.”
It occurred to him then that Naheela should have been dead. He saw no signs of an environment suit. The gas should have killed her.
Naheela yawned and her skin started to change. Expanding black spots covered her cheeks and arms. The blossoming patches were fringed by the most brilliant light that Kendall had ever seen. So bright, it hurt his eyes. The spots continued to grow—they looked depthless. The patches filled with shimmering points of light. Each pinprick blossomed into brilliant sun.
“We are the glue that binds all universes together.” She smiled and opened her mouth wide. More radiance. God, how his eyes pained him, but he couldn’t tear them away.
Soon, Naheela was a figure of pure incandescence. A figure of sable grew up out of the wavering floor to fill the space between Kendall and Naheela. He thought the darkness would soothe his burning eyes, but instead when he looked upon the dark figure, it filled him with a cold that burned far worse by comparison. It was then that Kendall understood the true essence of light and dark, of good and evil. He saw that as a man, he was mortal and nothing.
Suddenly, Naheela’s
shape flared, Kendall screamed, and something else—something inhuman—screamed along with him. Ezra Kendall had never known so much pain in his life. The world winked out around him. He was blind. He fell to his knees amidst so much heat that his mind couldn’t comprehend it. He could, however, comprehend the burning smell. His thin, gray hair was on fire. He cried out again, then inhaled sharply. As he drew his last breath, the air itself caught fire. He was fortunate to die then.
(•••)
Gerald and Marisa sat at the edge of the flight couch, gripping each other’s hands with white-knuckled intensity. Crescent erupted with swirling arcs of white light. The blinding streamers wrapped around the curve of station like a cocooning tornado. Red, violet, and black ribbons of light spun out in countering circles, but the ribbons were soon overwhelmed by the white hellfire. There wasn’t an explosion but a retina-searing flash of light, and then all that remained of Crescent was a floating afterimage.
“Bean… What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, Captain. I do know that the station is no longer registered on our radar. It is gone.”
“It’s not there anymore, Gerald,” Marisa whispered. “It’s not… anywhere.”
Debris floated where the station had been—refuse and old, discarded cargo containers. Nothing to indicate the station had blown up. The small leavings retained the shape of the station for a few minutes, but then became dissociated. The only evidence that mankind had built a station above Anrar III began a slow descent into the planet’s atmosphere, only to face eventual disintegration.