Kraken Mare

by Jason Cordova

  “No sign of Gerry anywhere that I can see,” Lockhart answered, his worried tone matching Poole's in a nearly-identical manner. “Voecks' comms and vitals aren’t registering, and I'm showing the same for Capdepon. You see Gerry out there?”

  “April and Bigfoot are dead,” I swore under my breath. I didn’t have the heart to let them know that their boss was definitely dead, nor did I want to get into details and specifics. Admitting that Gerry was getting some from the scientist before she tore open his throat with her bare teeth would be horrible for morale. Plus, I didn’t want him to be remembered that way. “Gerry’s secure with Doctor M in her quarters”

  “On the plus side, it appears that the prisoners aren't trying to make a break for the hangar just yet,” Poole informed us. “Both transport shuttles are locked down and only I've got the codes to unlock them. There's no way they'll know who did it, either, so once they figure that out, they'll want to negotiate. Then we'll own them.”

  I had a bad feeling about the plan but couldn’t see a better alternative. I doubted that we would ever “own” them, so to speak. They’d been two steps ahead of us from the moment the jail break had begun. I doubted they would slip up this soon. “Fine. Let's focus on shoring up our defenses at the posts who are still responding. We have twenty-two guards in the facility and fifteen scientists. We've got to find someplace secure to establish a safe zone from where we can fight back from.”

  “Don’t forget the maintenance crew,” Poole reminded me.

  “How many are there?” I asked.

  “Two dozen, but they’re wiped,” Poole stated. I stared at him, shocked.

  “They let wiped do maintenance work?”

  “They’re reprogrammed to only do their assigned tasks and go to their berthing,” Poole said in a defensive tone. “It’s part of their sentence.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I sighed, defeated. I’d read about that, somewhere, but had completely forgotten about it. It wasn’t as if I saw much of the maintenance crews around anyway. Their mental reprogramming limited their communication skills as well as their decision-making. They were almost as good as autonomous androids, but were far cheaper and easier to maintain.

  “How did they get out, anyways?” Lockhart asked as he punched in orders, “The prisoners I mean. Those spheres are supposed to be indestructible.”

  “It only takes one to escape and let the others out,” I said. I thought back to my first tour of the facility. The cells had certainly seemed rather tough back then. Now, though, I wasn't so sure. Not after seeing whatever Jou had turned in to. Plus, my gut was telling me that something far worse was going on. I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet. “Give me a confirmation on the elevator being disabled.”

  “Done. There's still the emergency stairwell, though,” Lockhart reminded him. I swore again in memory of being dragged up those damned stairs. If I ever saw them again, I’d firebomb something. “Plus The Well,” Lockhart added. The layout of the station was proving to be a tactical nightmare.

  “The Well is suicide.” I paused, then added, “I think. None of the DSRV's can make it up The Well, right?”

  “They're too big,” Lockhart confirmed. “They can go down and out, but not up. It’s a designed funnel.”

  “Okay, I've got two ideas for that safe zone you were looking for,” Poole announced suddenly. “The scientist’s living quarters are on the way to the hangar. There's two ways in and out. The main entrance is defensible, and the back way means that any attacker would have to move all the way around the station and through the hangar to get in. This is good, except that it's nowhere near the armory. Anyone who isn't carrying is screwed.”

  “What's the other option?” I scowled. “I don’t like the idea of being unarmed and trying to protect a bunch of civilians from a bunch of escaped convicts.”

  “Unarmed?” Isaac piped up, surprise in his voice. “You’ve got the pistol you threatened to shoot me with!”

  “Really?” Lockhart raised an eyebrow in my direction. I shrugged.

  ““I’m out of rounds,” I admitted to all present. I focused my attention on Isaac. “I wasn’t going to shoot you.”

  “Sure seemed like you were,” he groused.

  “The Observation Deck,” Poole interjected, getting the conversation back onto the rails. “It's only got one way in and out, which could mean a death trap. But it's also above the hangar, and the hangar is probably the best protected place on the station—outside of the cells, at least. Plus, the Armory is closer.”

  “Not the best comparison,” I said, still scowling. I mentally ran through the schematics of the station. “Damn. Damn it all to hell.”

  “What's up?” Lockhart looked at him.

  “The Observation Deck is the safest place and easiest to secure.” An idea began to form. “We control Post Two. I think. That leads to the hangar and the Observation Deck. Send out a coded alert to everyone who has checked in. Post Two will be our rally point.”

  “Rally point?” Poole asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, a rally point.”

  “A rally point usually means that we're rallying to somewhere,” Lockhart stated.

  “We are. Or rather, we will. We have to take back this station. We'll start from Post Two. Civilians will be safe in the Observation Deck.”

  “I don't know…” Poole's tone was filled with doubt.

  “Worst-case scenario, the civilians die last because there's nobody left to protect them.” I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “C'mon, it's not as if we have a ton of options here. Outside of nuking this place from orbit—and considering that this place was dropped from orbit, I seriously doubt a nuke will hurt it—our only options are to take back the base or run. My knees ache and I'll probably have a bad back one day, so you can understand why I hate running. Plus that means leaving civilians behind. Helpless, mostly innocent civilians. Nowhere in my NDA or contract does it state that I am to abandon my post and leave everyone else to die if the feces strikes the rotary impeller. So that means we take back the station. From Post Two. Any more questions?”

  The duo was silent. I gave Isaac a curt nod before I gave my orders to the Things.

  “Good. Code that message. I'll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” Poole asked as he began to relay information through Central's hub. I grabbed one of the PDA ear buds that we almost never used and popped it in. As expected, the device was the wrong shape for my ear and a dull ache began almost immediately. However, in a situation like this, it was worth the discomfort. It would allow for me to remains hands-free at crucial times.

  “Someone's got to go check the Armory and see what type of weapons we have. Might as well be me.” I pointed to the screen. “Looks like the way is clear. No better time than the present.”

  ঠ

  The path to the Armory remained remarkably clear the entire length of my harrowing yet short walk. I was fortunate to have the Things in my ear, since they could keep an eye out and warn me about any impending danger. It was still a psychological ordeal, though, one I didn’t want to repeat anytime soon.

  I spotted the door which led into the Armory. There were no guards posted, which wasn’t too surprising. I was a little more shocked that none of the prisoners had tried to take it yet. Then again, thinking back to what I had seen Jou turn into, they probably didn’t even need the weapons the Armory provided. I keyed the door to the Armory and stepped inside, making sure it closed securely behind me. That done, I looked around.

  Ok, I’ll admit it, I wiped away a tear of sheer joy. A manly tear, dammit.

  Guns. Guns everywhere. So many guns, and neatly arranged on the racks, a shopper’s dream come true. The image made me wish I was Jou’s size and strength just so I could carry more. I moved through the storage area, muttering to myself.

  “All I’ll need is this rifle, really. And these pistols. That’s all I’ll need.” I started strapping on holsters, slinging the carbine across my back. “And these
magazines. The rifle, these magazines, and these pistols. That’s all I need. And these flash bangs. I shouldn’t need anything else. Just the rifle, magazines, pistols, flash bangs, and this baton. Oh dear God in Heaven, is that a bullpup .50 caliber submachine gun? Fuck me, it is. That’s it. That’s all I… Ooh, body armor!”

  The fight with Jou had rattled me a bit. This, naturally, led me to start quoting every damn movie I’d ever seen. It helped me both get my brain back on track as well as prepare me for any surprised which may come up. I hated walking into a situation blind, and the random banter with myself helped calm me down a bit. Besides, who knew what the other prisoners would be able to do? Lift a shuttle? Leap tall buildings in a single bound? No, that was too insane. There was a point where enough was enough.

  Was I at the breaking point yet? I couldn’t be sure. Better safe than sorry. I went for more weapons.

  “Okay, that should be good. Rifle, pistols, magazines, flash bang grenades, and the baton. Leave the bullpup? Yeah, yeah, better leave the bullpup. That’s all I need. Shouldn’t need anything else. Wait…are those breaching charges?”

  “John,” Lockhart’s voice came over the earpiece. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Just thinking out loud.” I clanked a bit with each step. “There’s a couple of packs here, I’ll load them up with small arms for you guys.”

  Several more pistols and ammo went in the backpacks, along with a roll of duct tape. There’s always duct tape. I juggled things around until it was reasonably balanced out. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  I looked back down at the breaching charges. An evil thought came to mind.

  “Hey Lockhart, you there?”

  “What’s up?”

  “How’s the fire suppression system in the hangar bay? It’s a Halon-type of system, right? Just like the ones they use on Navy vessels?”

  “Uh…why?”

  “Better question: can we turn it off?”

  “Why?”

  “Actually, can we safely activate the Halon-3303 and dump it all into the hangar after I do something and get to a safe area?”

  “Why?!”

  “I have a really stupid idea,” I admitted, “but if it works, then it’s not stupid. Right?”

  “What the…?”

  “Relax,” I interrupted in the best soothing tone I could possibly manage given the circumstances we were in. “The worst thing that could happen is that I kill us all.”

  ঠ

  I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always think plans completely through when I suggest them to others. It’s a flaw in my mental process. I get so focused on the aftermath of the plan that I don’t really consider what others think of the implementation of said plan. I also have a bad habit of forgetting to share all of the details of the plan with others, which leads to situations.

  “This plan is borked,” Lockhart grumbled as he took the submachine gun I offered him. He cleared the chamber and inspected it briefly before nodding in satisfaction. He grabbed one of the many magazines I had pilfered from the Armory and slammed it home. He still was pretty pissed, though. “You want to do what with our fire suppression system?”

  “It’s easy,” I tried to explain in a comforting tone. “We use the suppression system to knock out anyone in the area where we trigger it. The locale with the best suppression system in a contained environment is the hangar. Ergo, we lure those psychos up to it and then knock them out with the Halon. Backup plan is we blow them up and vent the hangar of all oxygen, which gets rid of the flames and keeps the station from melting from the inside.”

  “That doesn’t sound easy,” Poole picked up complaining where Lockhart left off. “It sounds overly complicated and extremely dangerous.”

  “You’re pocketing grenades while bitching about safety, Gary,” I reminded him. “You really don’t have much of a leg to stand on here.”

  “Well, I can’t have just one…” he muttered in a low voice. I shook my head and tried not to sigh out loud. It was difficult.

  “So how are you going to lure them up to the hangar anyways?” Lockhart asked as he grabbed a handgun and loaded up for bear. He gave me a sideways look.

  “We can remotely lock the Observation Deck from here, right?” I asked. Seeing his confirming nod, I continued, “We lock the scientists in their berthing areas and make a general announcement over the PA about escaping in the shuttles. The escapees will rush up there to steal the shuttles and get off the station.”

  “That…could actually work,” Lockhart admitted. While there was some doubt still in his tone, I could see that he was warming up to the idea. Poole was a harder sell, though.

  “You’re assuming a lot,” he said, “and you’re assuming that they’ll come along like little mice for the cheese fairy. What if they suspect it’s a trap?”

  “It’s mice and the Pied Piper, and that’s why we have guns.” I patted my bag of goodies. As bad as the situation was, I felt that we were beginning to get the upper hand at last. Too many had died already, and there would be hell to pay, but we were finally getting a handle on things. Relatively speaking, at least.

  “How are you going to keep them from getting too suspicious?” Lockhart asked me.

  “We’re going to make the channel secured, but since I’m almost certain that one of them has a comm unit on them, we’ll broadcast over it for all the other guards,” I said.

  “But what happens if the guards believe the call and go there as well?” Lockhart pressed.

  “I don’t know, shit,” I exhaled heavily and thought for a moment. That was something I hadn’t really thought about. “I’ll worry about that if it happens. Anybody else check in yet?”

  “One of the maintenance wipes, when directly ordered,” Poole answered, “and some scientists. I’m sending you the list now.”

  “Guards?”

  “Not yet,” he said, though I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting anyone else to report in despite his use of the word “yet.”

  I had to agree with the unspoken sentiment. If the other guards hadn’t reported in by now, they were never going to report in at all. So far as we could tell, the three of us were all that was left of the security force from Xanadu.

  Welp, that’s going to create some high-paying openings in the job market, a dark and sinister voice whispered in the back of my mind. I grumbled and told my subconscious to shut the hell up. I grabbed my bag of goodies and slung it over my shoulder.

  “Take care of him,” I nodded at Isaac.

  “Will do,” Lockhart stated

  “We’ll be waiting for the signal,” Poole added helpfully.

  I exited Central and slowly made my way up those godforsaken stairs. Six floors up might not sound like a lot to anyone in reasonable shape, but I had gotten my ass kicked twice already, was carrying enough explosives and ammunition to give Honduras pause, and had already suffered through a pretty shitty day. Don’t judge me.

  When I wasn’t being dragged up them forcefully and having my kidneys slammed into the edge of every step, the stairs weren’t actually all that bad. I probably could have hit them more often than anything in the gym, been left alone by my fellow guards and gotten a pretty good workout to boot. Plus, the stairwell was a few degrees cooler than the rest of the station. That would have been a nice benefit.

  Yeah, yeah, I know. Hindsight and all that.

  And I was lying about the stairs. They sucked, as always. Single story is the way to go, people.

  I reached my destination level and took a deep breath. I triple-checked the safety and the magazine on the submachine gun before I paused to say a swift prayer. I might not have been the most religious of men, but even I’ll admit that I’ll ask for help whenever I needed it. Buddha, Flying Spaghetti Monster, God…all usually work on the side of the angels, and I could use all the help I could get.

  I had a slight flashback to Soma. I shoved it away. I might have been outnumbered once again, but there was no way I was
outgunned. There would be no bastard with a comm to call down an artillery strike on my position this time. I was facing, at most, nine hostiles. Compared to Soma, this would be a cake walk.

  I pushed the door open and quickly checked the right before swiveling around and pushing fully into the hall, the barrel of the machine gun turning left. My eyes scanned the immediate area. Nothing. I let out a sigh of relief. Score one for the good guys. I wasn’t going to die just yet.

  The corridor was nearly dark, with only the emergency lights up and running. It created some weird shadows and dark holes which set my teeth on edge. I was tempted to empty a full burst into each and every one of them but I stopped myself. I was saving all the ammo for legitimate threats. I didn’t need to expend any to soothe my shattered nerves.

  So I turned to my usual reaction to shitty situations: I began to mouth off.

  “Of course the lights are dimmed up here to create a spooky fucking atmosphere,” I complained in a low voice as I carefully made my way down the corridor towards the hangar. “Why the fuck not? It’s not like I’m not living through a horror movie already.” Each step I took was cautious, each breath was measured. Every second was painstakingly long and I could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

  “Let’s see, the bad guy is going to pop out of one of these doors with a knife while wearing a bloody hockey mask and hack me with a machete,” I continued, all the while my eyes scanned the corridor. “Or drop down from a ventilation duct, like that one, with acid dripping from his alien-like jaws and eat my face. Better still, they’ll pop up right behind me even though there’s nowhere for them to hide. In retrospect, that seems more likely.”

  Yeah, we all project our fears in different ways. I’ve mentioned this before and I’ll probably say it again. Besides, you try walking down a super freaky corridor sometime while hunting for men who were both hardened killers and shape-changing psychopaths. It’s not an easy thing to process. When you do, tell me how you coped.