by Aaron Bunce
His body shuddered as he fell into darkness once again. The tactile sensations of his knees and feet touching the floor returned first, followed quickly by warmth spreading down his legs. Pain rushed in right after–biting deep into both arms.
Jacoby gasped and opened his eyes. Lex was holding him up, her hands clutching his arms so tightly her nails had cut through his skin and into the muscle underneath. Her eyes were wide, full of fear.
Lex blinked rapidly, shook her head, and looked sideways to where her hands were latched onto his arms. Blood bubbled up and around her fingers, the dark fluid dribbling down onto his jumpsuit.
“Holy shit,” she gasped and immediately let go.
Jacoby collapsed to the ground, seemingly all the strength purged from his body. He did manage to lift his hands to cradle his pockmarked arms, the smell of blood and something salty filling his nose. His head drooped against the ground and he closed his eyes. His lap was wet, the jumpsuit’s crotch and inner pantlegs soaked clear through. But that was a passing concern compared to the weariness left in that strange vision’s wake. A weariness so deep it left him feeling like an inflatable toy left to deflate.
He opened his eyes as Lex cursed. She held both hands out before her. His blood covered her fingertips up to the first knuckle of all ten fingers. It made her hands look like claws.
“Okay…so I know we’ve seen like a lot of weird shit lately, but I thought that we left it…I don’t know, back on Hyde. What in the fucking hell was that? Fuck! I mean, what just happened? Are you all right?” she asked, her green eyes wide with shock and disgust.
“All right?” Jacoby wheezed tiredly. “What in the hell does that even mean anymore?”
“All…right is so overrated, Jacky Boy,” Poole giggled uncomfortably. “But you could say we have a large complication wrapped up in a small bag. You’re going to feel a little sleepy…err, tired for a while. Anna, my dear. You might want to see to him.”
“My god, what happened?” Anna gasped. Jacoby watched Lex’s green eyes lift to the doorway behind him, but he couldn’t turn to see who it was. He couldn’t feel her, or Poole, or anything really. Just the weariness pulling him to the ground.
“He, uh, Jacky-Boy will be fine. Eventually. Maybe after some rest. But, yeah, we’ve got some issues to consider, some security measures to enact,” Poole said to Anna. He fidgeted, wringing his hands, shifting from foot to foot. Poole looked uncomfortable, Jacoby thought. No, he looked scared.
With a shuddering breath, Jacoby closed his eyes and fell into the darkness.
2145 Hours
“Thirty-six. Good. Still below freez…” Manis said, but bit off the words. His head snapped back up.
There was no negative sign, and the small liquid crystal screen was pink, not blue.
“Pink? No. Pink? It is supposed to be blue! Blue is cold, not pink, that is warm! Shit! Shit! Shit! Freezer not warmer,” Manis yelled, limping over to the cube, and crumpling to the ground. It was supposed to work, to stay cold. Just like the crew were supposed to do what he said. Those samples were all that was left of doctor Misra’s work, the only remaining evidence of the intelligence responsible for the outbreak on Hyde. His evidence. At least, the last evidence not still stuck on the station.
Manis pulled the small cube away from the wall, the metal case scraping loudly against the floor. It was heavier than it looked. Solid.
“Twenty-four…. five pounds. Solid…well-made. That was good. Good. Enough insulation to keep it frozen,” he muttered. His hands shook as he fumbled with the small door. It was still latched, just as he left it. He found the cord next and traced it to the wall. Yes, it was still plugged in, but he already knew that. It was glowing blue. And the screen. It wasn’t showing any errors, just that it was supposed to be cold.
“The nurse. Oh, it had to be her,” Manis stammered, suddenly. “It was her. After our encounter in the hall, she snuck in here and sabotaged the cooler.” He knew it wouldn’t have been hard.
“Tap. Just tap on the screen. Tap-tap-tap. I mean it’s got both freezer and heater settings, and-and-and no way for me to lock the controls. No lock! She just had to tap-tap-tap the screen and destroy my samples! Layla’s work. Information the company would want…maybe need.”
Manis’ teeth chattered together as he turned the unit around. The small screen was blurry for a moment but clarified as he wiped the tears of anger out of his eyes.
43 *
His confusion only deepened. Not only did the screen indicate it was still in freezer mode, but the small compressor inside kicked on, a stream of warm air flowing out of the exterior vent. It was running in cold mode, and yet still getting warmer?
“The cooler is working as it should.” The voice was his, angry and frail. Lacking in strength, if not conviction. But it wasn’t him that spoke. He understood that much. He could still feel when his lips moved, damnit. And they didn’t move this time.
“Working?” he laughed, bitterly. Stomach acid washed up his throat, leaving a tang behind that a follow up swallow couldn’t remove.
“If it is working, then, well, then it should be cold. Simple, right? Yeah. Simple. Blue screen, not pink. Cold not warm. Working would mean that it’s fucking cold inside. The samples need to be frozen to stay viable. Frozen means cold. They need to be viable to have value to anyone.”
“But are you sure it is not working? Have you opened it up to confirm that the unit is blowing cold air? What if you are wrong, my dear? Trust the scientific method. Utilize the steps. Formulate a hypothesis, use your observations, and test it.”
Manis’ hand snapped up to his face and his fingers crawled over his cheeks, lips, and teeth. They didn’t move this time, yet he heard the voice. It wasn’t quite his. A little thinner, with the slightest hint of an accent. And he’d never been known to talk about scientific methods.
“Wrong? I’m not wrong? My two eyes see. One screen, numbers. The numbers don’t lie.” Manis swiped a hand across his face, wiping the moisture from his nose and eyes. It was a mess, just like his brain. Just like everything. “If I wasn’t wrong, the screen, my eyes, would tell me a different story.”
“Come on now, you’ve never been one of those people. You know that. Since when did you believe something based entirely off skin-deep data?”
“You’re not real! You’re just in my head, part of my brain. If I focus hard enough, you’ll go away. I’m struggling enough right now without you muddying everything up with your voice,” he screamed, and slapped his hands over his ears.
“Oh, but I am real, dear. Don’t be a child. Pull your hands away from your head and act the part. Act your part.” He heard the voice even with his hands clamped tightly against his head.
“The part? What part? I’ve got nothing…nobody believes me. They threw me in here,” he sputtered, but didn’t know how to reply. The voice…well, it was him. And if that was the case, then he was just arguing with himself. But…it was right. He’d never invest money in something based off shallow, short-term reports, and he surely wouldn’t react to a situation based entirely off a one-sided account. And beyond that, he was acting like a horrible, petulant child.
Manis coughed and pulled his hands away from his head.
“That is better, dear. Now come along, we do not have much time. Open the cooler.”
Manis sniffled and quietly popped the small cooler’s door open. A chilly breeze spilled out onto his hands. Cold air. Frozen air.
“Still cold. It works.”
“Good, my dear. Now pull out my samples and let us have a look at them.”
Manis reached in and carefully extracted the two shiny containers. His fingers brushed against the shelf, registering the cooler’s cold, wet liner. Wet, as if it were in the process of defrosting.
“The samples, they aren’t cold. Not cold at all. They’re warm to the touch,” he said, letting the small cooler door swing shut.
“Just as they should be, my dear. Well on their way to ninety-e
ight point six degrees, I would guess.”
Why warm? Why ninety-eight point six degrees? That is the…the temperature of a person’s body. Why would it be that warm? Ninety-Eight point six Fahrenheit is…is…thirty-seven degrees Celsius.
Manis stared at the two small, metal sample containers, his aching brain struggling to not hang up on the numbers and put the pieces together.
“Now you’ll need to listen to me very carefully, Manis, my dear. Look at me, so I know you understand.”
“Look at you? How can I…? It’s just me, like usual, talking to myself. No one else is here, just me, just…me.” He glanced around the small room, confirming that he was, in fact, alone. His head swiveled back to the door, the barrier barring him from everyone else on the ship. His resentment flared, and his fingers tightened around the samples.
“Careful!” the voice snapped, “we wouldn’t want you to damage the containers.”
“Don’t tell me to be careful, like I’m some kind of child. Don’t you think I understand that!” he yelled. “I’m the one in here with them. Not you. You’re not real. You’re just in my head. I’m the one here trying to keep these viable. Not like those people out there, the fearful cattle. They see anything that approaches them as a threat. They would…no they will eventually just force their way in here and destroy these samples and me with them. Cast us into an airlock and ‘pop’, blow us into space. Pop. Pop. Pop!”
“Do not speak to me with such disrespect, Manis! Now pick yourself up and look at me!”
He recoiled from the angry voice, his addled brain finally catching up. Manis wasn’t just talking to himself. There was an actual voice saying those things. His lips were not moving, so it wasn’t him, but someone was speaking. He turned as something tapped against the wall behind him, the pain in his knee flaring bright.
“Shit!” he cursed, and fell back against the wall. A shadow passed over the floor, as if the light fixture overhead moved. But it was fixed. It couldn’t move.
“Don’t be vulgar. And no, not over there. I’m over here,” the voice whispered, echoing now from his left.
“Where?” he asked, pushing away from the wall, and promptly stopping. “I don’t see anything.” He took a step forward and cringed, but not from the pain in his leg. Manis hobbled forward another step and scanned from left to right, more terrified of seeing something than not.
“I am close. Just a little further. Follow my voice. Just to your left.” Yes, it sounded close, almost tickling his left ear.
It’s just in my head. In my head.
“Close? I don’t understand,” Manis said, his teeth chattering together. “I can’t see you because you’re just in my head. That means you’re not real.”
Manis stopped and turned towards the door—no one there. It was still closed, the panel showing it securely locked. He turned left and glanced into the small bathroom. His reflection shone in the small mirror, a woman’s face hovering right over his shoulder.
He screamed, stepped back on his sore knee, shrieked in pain, and turned. But there was no one behind him. His heart hammered in his chest, a dull ache radiating out through his chest and into his shoulders and arms. Pressure formed around his lungs until it was hard to breathe.
It’s not real. She’s not real. You’re just seeing things. Seeing things that don’t exist. You’re panicked, stressed out. Breathe, you fool, and it will pass.
“Don’t be dramatic, Manis dear. If you continue to scream like a girl, they will storm in here and throw you out an airlock for sure. Now turn around before you give yourself a stroke!”
Apprehensively, Manis turned back to the mirror and repelled, but an angry glare froze him in place. It was Doctor Layla Misra, her reflection somehow standing between him and the wall. Yet, he could clearly see that the space was empty in his peripheral vision.
“Straighten up and stand like a man,” doctor Misra snapped, and his spine straightened of its own accord.
“Are you real?” he asked, against his every impulse. As much as he didn’t want to know–affirm that his mind had slipped deeper than ever into the unchartered waters of his psychosis, some small part of him was still flailing for a logical handhold.
“Don’t be fucking obtuse, Manis. You are paranoid, obsessive, and as usual, foolish as ever, but you are not mad. I am not just a figment of your ailing brain, manifesting friendly faces to help you rationalize your surroundings. I am me, my dear. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on to saving your life and humanity.”
“Saving my life? Humanity? What does that mean? I’m safe now. Safe. And what could possible threaten humans as a whole?” Manis shook his head, tears running down his cheeks and wetting his lips. Of course, she wasn’t real. Why would she tell him otherwise?
“Stop blubbering. You have less time than you know. And if we are to safeguard my work and your life, you need to stop crying and start listening.”
“Prove it. Prove it’s you and not…” he jabbed a finger at his temple.
“Don’t be an idiot. If I tell you something you might not know about me, then your mind will tell you it is a fabrication of your subconscious–that I am merely a projection. And if I tell you something only I would know about you, then it will reject the notion as confirmation bias, a means for your ailing mind to provide itself comfort. All I can say is that I am indeed Layla Misra, that yes, I am speaking to you in this very moment, and it does not matter how. You only need to trust me. I will show you how this is happening. I can prove it, but you must do exactly as I say and so very carefully. Is this acceptable?”
Manis nodded, meeting the intense scientist’s dark eyes in the mirror. Everything he saw in the shiny panel matched her words–from her flawless olive complexion to her large, almond-shaped eyes, down to the pronounced cheek bones and almost perpetually neutral lips. The silver hair at her temples and crow’s feet hardened her appearance a bit but could not fully mask her apparent natural beauty.
It was her, in every physical detail and more so, when he watched her lips move, it was her voice he heard. Not his. Had it always been that way? He couldn’t remember. Did it even matter anymore?
“I believe you.”
“Good. Now this is important, Manis my dear, so I want you to listen to me very carefully. When I am done, I want you to repeat it back to me. First, open one of those sample containers. Once you do, you will see,” Doctor Misra said, “and please do not scream or drop my sample. That will make me very cross!”
Manis nodded animatedly, taking a moment to wipe his eyes dry first. Doctor Misra nodded towards the two sample dishes in his hand, a lock of dark hair falling out of place. It moved back into place of its own accord.
He grasped the lid on the top sample, and after taking a steadying breath, twisted it free. It popped loose, a small amount of pressure escaping as the seal released.
“Be careful now, dear. Don’t spill it, not one drop. Within those containers lies our salvation.”
Salvation. Nine letters. Redemption. Ten words. Liberation. Ten words. All meaning the act of saving or being saved from some sort of harm. Nine and ten. Ten and nine.
A bead of sweat ran down from Manis’ temple. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit hard, struggling against the impulse to correlate and break everything down into its component numbers. Part of him believed that would make the whole thing make sense–designate the root to help understand meaning. But Doctor Misra’s hard eyes watched him, unblinking, and she was one of the few people outside of the directorate he had ever respected and feared.
Manis unscrewed the cap and lifted it free, both of his hands shaking visibly. The light revealed dark, red blood inside. Only it wasn’t frozen, not that he knew what frozen blood should look like. The surface of the thick fluid roiled, bubbles forming on the surface, growing, and then popping noiselessly.
“I don’t understand. What…what is wrong with it?” He lifted his eyes to the mirror. It looked more like a c
arbonated beverage than blood.
“Wrong?” Doctor Misra’s reflection mouthed with an eerie smile. “On the contrary, my dear. Everything is right. Specifically, the microscopic organisms that can change mankind. You can’t see them, but they are there—awake, moving, and trying to fulfill the promise of their purpose. You cannot hear them yet, but I do. And if you do exactly as I say, you will, too. They have such a beautiful song.”
“Song? What does that mean? Why will I be able to hear them?”
“I cannot tell you, my dear, it is something you have to experience for yourself,” Doctor Misra’s reflection said.
Bang-Bang-Bang. The knock on the door sounded harsh, more like a hammer smashing into a nail than someone’s knuckles. He flinched from the sound, the violence of the action.
“Mr. Nazzar. Are you okay? Someone heard you yelling, screaming.”
It was a man, that much was clear, but Manis did not recognize the voice. Not that he’d taken the time to memorize any of the crew, save for the captain, and only him because his authority was of use. The rest were just bodies.
“They think you are dangerous, my dear. And you know well enough what people do to threats,” Layla said, her eyes flicking to the door.
“What do I do?”
“Mr. Nazzar, can you hear me? I need to know you are all right.” The man outside banged on the door, the violent contact filling his confined space with noise.
“The only thing you can do, my dear,” Layla said, her voice low and fast. “Those people will come in here and either restrain you, or worse. If they find out you took my samples, they will destroy them. That cannot happen. They are awake now, but I do not know how long they will survive in this state. They cannot be re-frozen. So, we are left with only one option, my dear. You must carry them inside you, incubate them inside your body. You will save them, and thus, humanity. It is a great burden to place on your shoulders, I know, but I have the utmost faith in you. You will be our savior.”