At the Highways of Madness

by West, David J.

  “All right, ya got me on that one, prick.”

  “What was that Captain Ross?”

  “I said you’re a prick.”

  “What did you bring?” demanded Driscoll.

  “Just my Arkansas toothpick.”

  No words came from Driscoll’s mouth for a moment. “You brought a knife to space? We have tools, we have―.”

  “You never asked how I took care of those Red’s did you? You were just glad I did. So let’s leave it at that.” Cormac gave sharp glances to his two companions. “I’ve used wrenches too. This is quicker.”

  “This is highly irregular.”

  “Least I didn’t bring a damn book.”

  Ryman spoke soothingly. “I assure you both. No one will be reported for any of this. General Manning is well aware of Captain Ross’s barbaric implements and if there is one thing neither one of us will do, it is punish results.”

  Unwilling to let it go Driscoll muttered, “You broke protocol.”

  “Shut up.”

  There was a tense silence for a few moments until Driscoll piped up. “What are those not-medals then Mr. Ryman?”

  “They are pentacles. These for the Moon, these Jupiter and these is for Saturn. They are vital for dealing with my mission.”

  “Your mission?”

  “Quite. Your mission is to specifically get me to the Lagrange point and deal with any troubles therein. My mission begins and should in short time finish, afterward you are to bring me back to earth Captain Ross.”

  Driscoll looked puzzled.

  “Do not trouble yourself Major Driscoll. I simply expect Captain Ross to be more capable at eliminating the threat posed by anything we encounter. I have no doubts that you will do your best in the coming exchange.”

  “Do you really expect a threat?”

  “Certainly. The Soviets will not simply hand me control of their secret space station!”

  Dead silence reigned for a cosmic moment as each man took that revelation to task.

  “Soviet’s don’t have a space station yet,” said Cormac, breaking the stillness.

  Ryman gave a venomous chortle. “Do not be offended that they seem to have made it past you and the rest of the Crypto-Cosmic Command. They have done so a handful of times already Captain Ross. Not that it really matters. We have known for some time what it is they were building and have allowed them to do the dirty work of constructing and putting it into orbit. We are going to take their weapon, called a Salyut, and turn it against them.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking Mr. Ryman, but how could you know that? My understanding is that all the best spies were caught inside Star City and horribly tortured and killed. There’s no way you could know what a secret Soviet space station is being outfitted with. I’ve heard they don’t even tell the Politburo the half of it,” said Driscoll.

  “What do they have?”

  “Patience Captain Ross, all will be revealed soon enough. My talents have granted some insight into the Soviets capabilities. Suffice to say, I have seen for myself what the Soviets intend to do.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “You were told to follow orders. That you would be debriefed in orbit. What part of that do you not understand?”

  “We have a right to know,” said Driscoll. “Why not tell us? It can’t be that much farther.”

  “You ought to grace us with your master plan.” Cormac agreed, “I’ll have us at the Lagrange point in twenty minutes.”

  Ryman grimaced before answering. “Very well, since you both are my most trusted liaisons, I can reveal some of my knowledge. I use the will of the Universe, the very ether to learn all. Some have taken to referring to it as a sixth sense, some remote viewing, others sorcery and Magick.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Sorcery.”

  “That sounds like you believe in the occult,” spat Driscoll.

  “I do not believe in the occult,” said Ryman. “I participate in it. Mere belief is quite different.”

  “How?”

  “Magick is the result of willful intent.”

  “So a workable faith then?”

  “You could say that,” said Ryman, sneering.

  “What does any of this―magic do for you? What did you learn?”

  “Astute as ever Captain Ross. I learned that there are forces within the Soviet machine, specifically the paranormal branch of the NKVD, the GUMOD, that have their own dark agenda and are working against me.”

  “Who with the what?”

  “Professor Andreiev, head of GUMOD, the Soviet Administration of Occultic and Magical Affairs.”

  “I don’t follow. What’s this got to do with the here and now?”

  “True men of power have always controlled the people through the gods, whether black or white, light or dark, real or unreal.”

  “What?”

  “I have said far too much to the uninitiated. How far to the Lagrange point?”

  “Is that where the Reds are?”

  “No, it is not. It should be the high ground above the Salyut’s orbit so that we can swoop down on them.”

  “There is no high ground in space, unless we are at the top of the gravity well―which we aren’t. They’ll see us coming.”

  “Are you telling me that you cannot accomplish this mission? Are you telling me that you, the ‘Jack-Hammer’, are not capable of dealing with perhaps three cosmonauts?”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Gladly. They are to be eliminated with extreme prejudice.”

  “What is their secret weapon?” asked Driscoll.

  “They have a nuclear reactor aboard their new Salyut space station. It is attached to a Soyuz module and paired with some minor communication relays. This station will be turned against us as soon as it is fully operational. We must destroy it. I brought forth a plan to take over the thing and give us an ultimate weapon that will dominate and reinvent the world. Any who stand against us, will taste an entropic bomb, especially Moscow.”

  Cormac said nothing, but went to rub his chin again, but for the faceplate.

  Driscoll shook his head. “This isn’t right. We could disable and destroy it. We don’t have to be instrumental in killing thousands of innocent people and starting a war. I did understand you didn’t I, Mr. Ryman? You are suggesting mass murder!”

  Ryman answered in a quick jerking succession of syllables, “Of course not, you stupid man. I will perform the Oath of the Abyss and open a gate, a dimensional window if you will; afterward I shall summon an ancient power undreamed of―I will control the dark matter entities and make an entropic bomb that will grant me passage and control of the Qliphothic realm.”

  Cormac raised an eyebrow at Driscoll.

  “Seems awful complicated, Mr. Ryman,” said Driscoll.

  “It is the simplest plan possible. It will enable a new age, born in darkness to return through the veil, a link of materia to ultrateria. A union of the void and its dark disciples. Ultimately, I will eliminate the outdated uselessness of the nuclear bomb.”

  Cormac scoffed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Ryman went quiet, staring daggers at them.

  “Maybe he has space dementia,” suggested Driscoll. “Take a drink from your line Mr. Ryman.”

  “I don’t know,” said Cormac, “but that Red space station is just ahead and above.”

  “I thought we were supposed to have the high ground?”

  “The gyroscopes might be off. I put the star tracker in sync with Canopus, but with our attitude and climb we’ve probably gone off course a titch. Not unusual, especially with this kinda’ ramrod mission thrown together at the last minute before any of the regular techs could check us out.”

  “What’s that hum?”

  A pervasive yet undulating buzz violated the tranquility of their headsets.

  Cormac and Driscoll exchanged raised eyebrows, and looked behind at Ryman reading his book. The massive dark tome was h
eld together by a thick leather cover, bronze clasps at the edges were green with age, while yellowed parchment made up its myriad pages. The lettering appeared to be hand written ink of various shades from cobalt blue to ghostly black and finally blood red.

  The hum was Ryman.

  He muttered archaic sounding phrases repeatedly under his breath, the words hardly captured by the two-way radio. “In the beginning, there was naught but darkness, untainted by shape or form. Then came the light. It scorched its way into the darkness, marring the smooth beauty of nullity with its unnatural essence, cauterizing the wounds it had caused by its mere presence.” His chant broke in varied pitches of primeval verse, emphasizing the eldritch and unholy rhyme.

  “Ryman!” Cormac barked. “Snap out of it. If this mission is your operation, you’d better tell the doctor where it hurts.”

  “I am preparing for this confrontation Captain Ross. You know what needs to be done! You will dock us beside the station, dispatch the crew and I will do what is truly the important work of ages.”

  Ryman turned his radio off, but they could still see his lips moving as he continued his mantra of the diabolic book.

  “You haven’t fought them hand to hand before. You ready for it?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Remember, if your suit gets cut, or your faceplate is ruptured, exhale immediately. Get all the breath out of your lungs. You will feel tension on exposed skin, you will have swelling. But you have some time to make it to an airlock, ours or theirs, doesn’t matter. Then it’s just animal savagery.”

  “What if my line gets cut?”

  “Anything that you can use to retain a grip on a solid surface will help. I’ve chewed gum.”

  “Gum?”

  “Yeah, some wiry little cosmonaut cut my line two missions ago, while his partner smashed my faceplate in with their multi-tool. I lost my wrench doing the same to him as I exhaled.”

  “Your faceplate was smashed and your line was cut?”

  “I’m telling you from experience, so you know it can be done. The wiry cosmonaut shoved me and I went swinging out, grabbed my gum, and used it hold onto the Voskhod’s solar vanes. I crawled back and made that bastard pay.”

  “How did you exhale and keep your gum?”

  “Through my nose, Driscoll! Didn’t you ever go diving?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Do it. It’s the only reason I’m still alive and they’re dead. Remember that know-it-all idiot Lieutenant Cluff? That dumb bastard didn’t exhale. He got the bends and died.”

  “They said that was a training exercise.”

  “This is a training exercise―if it fails. Otherwise we are just silent weapons for quiet wars.”

  As Cormac brought the X-20 in for a final yo-yoing approach, the night side came over them in a sweeping mantle of ebon couched darkness, fracturing the last rays of sunlight.

  Driscoll stayed quiet a moment, deep in thought before saying, “I’d like to think I am contributing more than that. Something for the greater good.”

  “Yeah, me too. But it is what it is.”

  “Are we going to die?”

  “I made peace with that answer a long time ago.”

  “If not for the greater good then, why do it?”

  Cormac snorted. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  He brought the X-20 into a violating rendezvous with the bizarre Soviet station. A hybrid made from the Salyut and Soyuz modules, the station seemed almost stationary in the vast deep of space. A pincer-like armature from the X-20’s left winglet, grasped a jutting solar panel wing on the side of the station causing the entire unholy union to subtly change its orbital spin as the whole body shook and twisted.

  Cormac pulled his Bowie knife from the side of his seat. “If they didn’t already know, they sure as hell do now.”

  “That bad?”

  “It’s all bad, but maybe if we scared them enough, they’ll slip up. You want to hear them bark at us? White found their frequency last week.”

  The intercom crackled a quick spray of angry Russian.

  “What did they say?”

  “They said, they were going to kill us if we didn’t leave.”

  “What if they saw us coming and are ready?”

  Cormac growled, shaking his head. “Listen, we’ve been in our pressurized suits the whole time. They haven’t. They’ll be sick and easier pickings. You take the wrench. If I’m fast enough, you won’t even need to swing it.”

  “I still don’t feel right about this. Not face to face.”

  Ryman broke in, “Trust me Major Driscoll. This needs to happen. We must break with these melodramatic excuses of moralistic right and wrong. The Soviets are attempting a means to destroy and rule us, we must turn the balance and take back what is ours by dark divine right!”

  “Yeah, yeah. You ready for this Ryman? Let’s go.”

  “Captain Ross, I am not a physical combatant. I am not getting out of the space plane until you clear all obstacles.”

  “Course. Never mind, if Driscoll and I get killed you don’t know how to pilot this thing home in one piece.”

  “I would find a way.”

  “I’ll bet you would try.”

  “Quite.”

  “I’m opening the airlock. Hold on to your damned book.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Cormac secured his Bowie knife with a strap about his left arm and gave a thumbs up to Driscoll. The radio crackled as the Russian’s demands were again ignored. A sudden rush of pressure stole whatever oxygen had stowed away within the X-20.

  Twin doors opened a portal to the vacuum of space. Stars set hard against deep black gave cold unfeeling light.

  “Unbuckle, we gotta move faster than they do.”

  Floating in the dark ether, Cormac raised above his seat and floated over the top of Ryman still clutching his book. He secured a fifty-five-foot line from an anchored reel to his harness and beckoned the same to the other two men, he then went through the black gate to the outside void.

  Driscoll followed suit, looking back once at the gleeful Ryman still seated and perusing his infernal book.

  As Driscoll pushed himself up and out the X-20, Cormac grabbed his shoulder and guided him to a short antenna sticking off the side of the Salyut.

  Cormac motioned to the stations airlock. “They’ll have a second one over on the ass-end of the Soyuz. I imagine they will swarm out of each hatch.”

  “Why aren’t they out already?”

  “They’re suiting up and pressurizing themselves. Probably think they can take care of us based on sheer numbers.”

  “Numbers?”

  Cormac signaled he was turning off his radio and for Driscoll to do the same.

  Driscoll did as the experienced cold warrior asked. Looking behind Cormac, he tried to take in the vast black gulfs beyond.

  Cormac leaned his faceplate against Driscoll’s, so they clacked together. The sound could only be heard inside the helmets as the vibrations resonated solely through the air in that tiny space. “This is the only way no one can hear us.”

  “?”

  “Listen! Ryman is up to no good, it’s like he wants us to fail. There is no way there are only three Red’s on a station this big and that is obviously still under construction. Something fishy is going on.”

  “What do we tell Manning and Crypto-Cosmic Command?”

  “Does it matter? They agreed to this whole operation. We’re in for the long haul, but I don’t buy Ryman’s story. He wants something else.”

  “What if he’s right? Maybe they have a bomb or something?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What then?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, having a bomb in space is an advantage, but it’s not enough on its own. We will always retaliate and give them our own endgame scenario and everybody still loses. Until the advantage is so far in one direction, nobody will ever have the sand to press that button.”

>   “Then why are we really here?”

  “Ryman wants the station for something, but none of the logical answers make sense.”

  “What if he is telling the truth?”

  “He’s not.”

  With that, Cormac turned his radio back on and pointed at a face staring at them through the portal window of the Salyut.

  “That was a woman!” Driscoll blurted.

  “Yeah, the Reds are real progressive.”

  The radio crackled again with a stern Russian’s accent coming through. “American running dogs of the capitalist pigs. You hear us. You are given your last warnings. You will take your craft and illegal war and leave or we will be forced to bring death to you.”

  “What do we―?

  “Just hold on. They always threaten a few times.”

  The Russian tried one last time. “Americans you are given your last warnings. We will shoot you!”

  Driscoll looked at Cormac then back to the face in the portal window.

  Cormac drawled, unconvinced, “They’re bluffing.”

  “And if they’re not?”

  “The Soviet Command wouldn’t let them bring extra weight on one of those capsules. Star City limits what they can bring, down to the fraction of an ounce. Their hypergolic fuel is too heavy. Nobody gave them a gun; more likely they know ‘the Cutter’ is here and somebody’s already evacuated into their suit.”

  A clear line interrupted from Ryman. “Why do you not have control of that station yet Captain Ross?”

  “Red’s haven’t invited me in yet.”

  “So get inside and deal with them.”

  “I didn’t want to make a mess.”

  “The messier the better,” snapped Ryman. “Make the Soviet’s bleed.”

  Pointing at the hatch, Cormac said, “Let’s try and open that and get inside.”

  Driscoll threw his weight into it but only succeeded in spinning himself. “It’s locked.”

  “I told you, they were bluffing about having guns. Let me try.” The bigger man strained against the hatch but made no progress against it. Cormac ordered, “Bang your wrench on that portal. They’ll move.”

  Driscoll knocked the wrench against the portal window. The force of the blow threw him back and he had to retain a stronger grip alongside the station. Just holding the wrench with his gloved hand was hard enough, but Driscoll imagined that back on earth he would have easily crushed a car window.