'Nightingale, begin a coding rage. All standby power to the engines, get us to Outpost 73 in four hours.'
'The earliest I can arrive at that destination, whilst maintaining all functions needed to the crew, would be in four hours and thirty-seven minutes.'
'If you cut out some of the lights in the engine hatches, how would that help?'
'That would mean you arrive in four hours and three minutes, Leon,' the ship said.
'Get it done. Guys, it would appear that Duma has gone rogue, he's snapped and is prowling the ship. The number one priority is to get him restrained. Take him alive if possible, dead if you absolutely have to. Duma, if you are listening...' Leon couldn't continue on with what he was going to say. He didn't think he could ever sum up what he wanted to say. His mission had fallen into tatters, his ship was limping home, his crew was coming unstitched and unhinged, and one had had her life forcefully taken from her like a butchered animal. It stopped, once and for all.
'All other priorities overwrote, Captain?' It was Prissy, wanting to know her position.
'All other priorities overwrote, copied and confirmed.' It was with that, that the crew of Nightingale began a manhunt, hoping against all possible odds that the whole event was just some freakish nightmare.
Chapter 10:
The crew of Nightingale, those surviving at least, prowled the silent chambers of the ship. The creaking and groaning put them on edge; they had long since shut out the sound of the engines from their ears. Prissy watched from her overlord position inside the observation room, eyes scanning furiously for anything that might help protect her companions. She couldn't understand why Duma could have gone rogue. It didn't make sense to her; they were so close to home after all. There was nothing that he had done wrong, and as far as she knew, their archaeologist didn't have a guilty conscious of anything. Prissy shuddered, rubbing her arms for warmth, before realizing that she hadn't shivered due to any cold. There was simply something fundamentally wrong with the situation that they were in as a crew. Something very wrong.
Holden opened the door to the dining room, mugs still lying unwashed. Plates still had the slight remains of the food-sludge clinging to their edges. He held the gun out straight, ready to shoot on sight for anything that moved. He looked behind the door, seeing nobody except his own imagination's ghosts. Eyes sharp, ears alert, he moved into the center of the room, fully aware of his openness to attack. He had seen the body, gods he had puked over it, thrown up his stomach all over the floor of the ship. He had left it there, stinking in the corridor; thinking that his captain would forgive him for abandoning his janitorial duties under the circumstances. Yuki's body slashed to ribbons, Holden's insides hadn't been able to take it.
As a psychologist and has worked in a mental asylum for several years, he was well aware of the atrocities that people could do to their fellow civilians. He had once worked with a Vernite that had developed an unruly habit of biting the head of anyone who didn't say 'please' at the end of a sentence aimed towards it. He had seen images of the remains of his patient's meals and had been disgusted yes, but never lost control. The Vernite in question, whose name was Kurochin, was very well mannered, quiet, receptive, and never did anything out of place as long as Holden was working with him. Then again, he always remembered to say 'please' at the end of his sentences. Throughout all of the sessions with him, he had found nothing wrong with his brain, no corruption of the mind, absolutely nothing. He had just had a strange habit, a violent little personal colloquialism of the teeth.
Kurochin's violent behavior had been hidden from his friends and family for over 148 years, his insectoid wings always humming perfectly soundly without ever skipping a beat. Holden now wondered if Duma had had some sort of issue or condition that had lain dormant until now. Maybe the stress of the situation set something off in his head, a little breakage in that mental chain that holds everyone together, and it had sent him just over the edge. Take a knife in the hand; slash everyone up for an inconceivable reason. Perhaps Duma was unaware of it himself.
Holden moved down through the connecting corridor, checking and scanning for any sign of movement. His footsteps, to him, were impossibly loud, and he considered slipping off his shoes and walking barefoot through the ship to avoid detection. After due thought, however, he decided to keep his feet in their scabbards, deciding that the pain of walking on the grated floors would outweigh the advantage he would gain from the silence of having them off. His footfalls were probably quieter than he thought anyway, he decided.
He rounded a corner, whirling to check behind him before a strange sensation came upon him. It was like a throbbing in his head, a pulsating headache of which he had never experienced in his life. He doubled over, the intensity was growing, causing him to lean against the rails of the ship and put his hands to his temples. It was as if someone was trying to probe into his head, attempting to determine all the secrets contained within. The agony was soon becoming excruciating, his vision was starting to blur. He was aware that if Duma saw him in this state, he would be dead quicker than an Eros-fish on a Brykthylosian's dinner plate.
In his head, he heard the strangest things. He thought he heard Yuki's voice, however not her voice at the same time. It was as if her voice was being used by someone else, it seemed disembodied and almost possessed. Holden gripped his gun tighter (not aware that he had squeezed the trigger, a hole appearing in the floor beside him) as he heard Duma's voice as well, although he couldn't discern what he was saying. Again, his voice sounded as if someone else was speaking through a voice-filter and changing it to Duma's vocals. It was not right, it felt like a violation of someone's personality, even if they had apparently lost it and butchered a beautiful young woman. Holden looked from side to side through blurred vision, but could not see Duma slinking down the corridor towards him, muttering under his breath and vowing to kill the brain-man.
Almost as soon as it began, the strangeness faded away, and the throbbing in Holden's head began to fade. The whole episode had lasted mere seconds, and yet as he panted for breath, exhausted by the event that had befallen him, it seemed as if he had been clutching his head for hours. 'What happened there?' he wondered to himself. It wasn't normal, that was for sure. He hadn't experienced anything like it in his life, and he didn't like it. At this stage in one's life, he thought, he should have experienced most things that life had to throw at him. He was getting on a bit, his cousin had recently told him, and he had to start to take it easy. Having something affect your mind in such a strange way was not taking it easy. Holden soon recovered, however, aware that a knife-wielding psychopath was on the loose, and began to move off on the hunt once again, never noticing the blasted hole in the ship.
Elsewhere in the ship, the other four crewmembers had all had similar experiences. All of them had bent over double, their heads moaning and groaning in an incredibly painful and unpleasant manner. When they regained their composure, however, all of them had thought the incident had occurred only to them, and so completely blanked out the thought of mentioning it on the coms system. They did not remove it from their minds however, and Jenny was still thinking about it as she came around a corner near the very back of the ship. She had recently heard a groan come from this general direction and had moved down there to check it out.
'Prissy,' she whispered into the ship. 'Any sign of him near me? I thought I heard something.' There was silence, aside from the movement of the ship as it continued on its last frantic speed towards civilization once again.
'Nothing Jenny, I haven't seen him this whole time,' the second in command replied. Prissy looked over all of the monitors, to no avail. The maniac could not be located, and if what Oliver had reported to her was correct, Nightingale couldn't even find them. Or it still wasn't cooperating, but either way, they couldn't use their ship. Prissy continued to look throughout the ship for her demon companion, but couldn't source him. As her eyes looked over the screens before her, she thought she spotted som
ething, and then, no. No, she didn't see anything.
'I'm still looking for him Jenny; he's a crafty bugger that's for sure. Duma, never knew you could win the Celestrian hide-and-seek championships,' she spoke through the ship, and despite the horror of the situation, Jenny couldn't stifle her laugh. Good old Prissy, way to lighten the situation every time. With renewed energy, but still wary of her surroundings, she set off again in search of the source of the noise she had heard.
The lights were of a hallway down from Jenny. She stopped, reading her heart rate. Too fast. She tried to slow it down mentally, slowing her breathing, trying to regain control of her body. She trod lightly, almost on tiptoes as she skulked her way towards the blackout area. Gun up and at the ready, she peered around the right-hand corner. A bright white light shone from down the other end, and in the center of it stood a man. He was looking towards the wall, his right side facing Jenny. He was simply a black shape, arms by his side, head looking up, as if to some divine being. His hair confirmed to Jenny that it was Duma. His calm, tranquil nature unnerved the weapons expert. Her grip on the gun tightened, and she moved around the corner with it extended, focused on the killer before her.
'Duma,' she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking from nerves. Duma's head snapped towards her so sharply she almost thought she heard his neck crunch. Jenny caught her breath just in time. Duma's eyes seemed radiant, their own luminescence shining through, blood red. They were demonic, as if from the very pits of hell. Jenny's blood ran cold; there was something more than a demented archaeologist here, though what it was she wasn't sure.
The two locked gazes. Jenny's eyes were fearful, though her eyebrows were furrowed in an attempt to suppress her anxieties. Duma's were full of evil intent, malevolence, and an inhuman quality so overpowering it seemed to pollute the very air around them.
'I don't want to hurt you, Duma. Just come quietly, and...' Jenny never got any further than that. In a split second, Duma was sprinting towards her, almost so quickly that she couldn't react. She went to squeeze the trigger but Duma collided with her, knocking the gun from her hands. He fell on top of her, lashing out and slashing with a knife he had been holding in his left hand. Jenny grasped his wrist and tried to hold it back with all her strength. She tried to get her feet underneath his hulking body, she couldn't remember him being so well-built, and they rolled. For a split second, Jenny was in control, but the fates quickly turned again and she was once again underneath the crewmember's enormous strength.
A hand squeezed around her throat and Jenny went to try and prize his fingers from her windpipe. She tried to cough or splutter but couldn't. Duma's now-free hand raised the knife high to deliver the killing blow. Jenny closed her eyes, fingers desperately trying to break her neck free of the hold. It was the end for her.
The sound of a gun blast rung in Jenny's ears, and she heard a clattering of metal upon metal as Duma dropped the knife. His body collapsed onto hers, and she opened her eyes to see Leon rush over to her and shift the hulk from her. Jenny was helped to her feet, and she looked down at the archaeologist. It was only now that she noticed something she hadn't before during the fight. His throat had been slashed; the blood dried and crusted over. Nobody could survive such a wound. And then there were the eyes.
'Fuck, thanks to Leon,' she panted.
'Don't mention it. Heard a tussle and came running,' was the reply she got. They stared at him for a few seconds.
'The fuck happened to his throat?' That wasn't me,' Jenny said.
'Nobody could have lived with that. Something else was up with him.'
'His eyes. Oh god, you can't have seen his eyes. They, they were red. It was like looking at the devil,' Jenny told him.
'Fuck,' was the one-word reply.
'Everyone alright?' Prissy came over the coms system.
'Yeah, we are. Holden and Oliver, Duma's here. I shot him, he went mental on Jenny,' Leon reported.
'I'm on my way there,' Oliver said, rising from his chair and making his way out of the cockpit.
'Same here' Holden replied, starting the trip down to the scene of the scuffle.
'Wait,' Prissy said, confusion in her voice. The crew waited for a reply from her but didn't hear anything for several seconds.
'Prissy what is it? Come in, Prissy,' Leon said.
'Oh gods, LEON!' she exclaimed. It was too late, however. Before Leon realized it, a hand had come around from behind him to hold his head in place, and another came up, bearing a large knife. It slashed his throat cleanly, blood gushing out. Leon's eyes bulged, and his hands tried to make their way to his throat. Jenny gasped in surprise and fear. The captain collapsed, and Yuki brought her knife back, wiping the blood off onto her trousers.
Chapter 11:
Jenny tried to crawl away, rising to her feet and fleeing, but Leon was too fast for her. He reached her with lightning speed, blood still gushing from the slash in his neck, grabbing her shirt. She spun, executing a back kick, rising up towards Leon's face. It struck home and he howled in agony, letting go of Jenny. She ran down the corridor and turned. She had no weapons, nothing to defend herself with. She felt powerless to defend herself from whatever the hell was going on inside the ship.
'Prissy, what the fuck is going on?' She cried, turning another corner, heading towards the front of the ship.
'I've no idea. Everyone head towards the cockpit, we're sealing ourselves into a secure place!' Prissy leaped from her position in the observation room and ran down the hallway to the cockpit. Oliver was scanning over instrument after instrument, calling at the radio aimlessly for help from anyone nearby.
'Anyone there Oliver?'
'No gods damn it. We're still in The Blank Space so there's sod all we can do in terms of help. We've still got half an hour until radio contact with Outpost 73. The fuck is happening back there?'
'I don't know. Yuki's still alive somehow and...'
'Wait, hold your friggin Zestrilian horses. She's ALIVE?'
'Yeah, but gone rogue like Duma. He's had his throat slashed as well. They're like... Zombies almost... Leon is...' Oliver held up his hand to stop her from speaking, she was starting to crack her voice under stress and tears.
'Don't bother. From the sounds of it, Jenny and Holden are ok though.' Prissy nodded slowly, swallowing for breath but not her fear.
'Right, let's arm this place, get them in, seal it shut and ride for 73, they can sort it from there.' Prissy nodded again, showing her agreement. Things were out of hand, it was time for damage limitation. Hell was being unleashed on her ship, and Prissy didn't know how much more she could take.
Holden took a right, scampering with his gun extended. A shadow to his right. He fell flush against the wall, hiding. He saw a person move through a doorway ahead of him, going down another corridor. Leon. The dead Leon, the walking wounded, the hell on legs Leon. That was not his captain. He wanted to rush after him, turn him around, punch him in the face and rip his face off. He was angry. This mission was routine, as revolutionary as it was. There was nothing in the blank space, and cabin fever had apparently got to his crew. They had to be taken out. But he had heard Prissy's order. He knew it was a sensible one. It was just that...
He clasped his head. It was that sensation again, someone probing his head. He heard voices once more, Yuki's, now Leon's, now Yuki's again. It was the voices of those who had defected, those who were dead. He was hearing the voices of the dead. Unless...
Unless they weren't dead. Perhaps it was some kind of possession, some kind of ethereal spirit that was causing all of this controversy and mayhem aboard the ship. Perhaps it was telepathy. But no, telepathy didn't quite seem right. It was something else.
More searing pain flashed up again. It was an excruciating agony. He looked up briefly to see a shadow at the end of the corridor. Leon was returning, his demonic, hellfire eyes somewhere else, looking into a distance not there. Leon's voice was in his head again, conversing to Duma in a language, or at least Holden gu
essed it was language, indecipherable to him. He wasn't the language guy. Duma was the language guy, it came with the whole ancient civilizations thing. If they had put their minds to it once, just once before all this had taken place...
'Joint minds. Fuck; that's it,' he breathed to himself. Leon's head snapped towards him. The pain stopped and Holden's vision returned. He stood upright again, and Leon cocked his head to one side, as a dog might consider something before him. Holden stopped. The two locked gazes for a few seconds, Holden's body tingling with electric energy. Then Leon screamed, a scream from the very bowels of hell itself. Holden turned and ran. Leon advanced, far faster than Holden. He was going to reach him, tear him apart, slit his throat...
"Blam". The gun went off and Leon howled in pain, his face eroding away. Jenny pulled Holden around the corner.
'Let's fucking move it,' she yelled, and the two sprinted towards the dining area and to the cockpit of the ship.
Oliver came from checking the observation room; he had wanted to check the situation. He told prissy to strap herself in but to arm herself if she needed the extra firepower. She took one of the larger guns that were kept in the cockpit and primed it, ready for firing. Oliver stood up and flicked switches.
'Nightingale, initiate Code 101,' Oliver said. His tone of voice was that of a man resigned to the gallows.
'Code 101 activated Oliver,' the ship replied. Prissy frowned.
'What does that mean?' Prissy asked. Oliver went over to a stash of large XF-76 Gammas, strapping them to his back in a large X. From the back, he looked like a walking skull and crossbones.
'I'm sorry Prissy, I really am,' he said solemnly. He walked through the door and shut it behind him. A siren went off inside the cockpit.
Blank Space Page 6