by CK Burch
He took her hands. ″Rene, please. We're going to get off of this ship, we're going to make it to safety, and we're going to stay alive. Both of us. But just in case, I wanted...I wanted you to know. I've fought with this for a long time now. For years. And we're not getting any younger, you and I. I'll be gone soon. God knows where you're going to be stationed after this. And I – ″
″Gordon.″ She touched a gloved finger to his helmet, to where his lips were displayed on the holo. It was a silly gesture, but it silenced him. ″Gordon. I know. I love you, too.″ Her lips parted and she smiled wide and full, giggling slightly as she did. ″Do you remember when I'd been offered a position back on Earth? And I almost took it? I took the shuttle to Outpost 7 during shore leave and nearly took the job. But I came back. Do you know why?″
He thought back. Of course he remembered. Outpost 7. The accident. He'd nearly retired and left the ship. Fleur staying had been the only positive part of that entire experience. He wasn't sure where he'd be if she hadn't stayed on the ship. ″I thought it was the shuttle explosion. We needed you. All of us. And...so did I.″
She nodded. ″I came back because of you. You took that so hard. I realized then that I wanted to be here for you, to take care of you. But mostly just to be near you. I didn't think anything would happen between us, but...I just wanted to be near you.″ She was crying. ″Oh god. It's been three years I've wanted to say that. God, what a long time.″
He didn't know what to say. He felt foolish and flushed, embarrassed like a schoolboy who had just had his first kiss. This was like out of one of those goddamn romance novels his ex-wife used to adore. She would cry and cry, and now here he was feeling his emotions swelling and rising to the corners of his eyes. God, how long had he loved this woman? How long had he wanted to just tell her, let her know? There was a deep corner of his mind that reminded him of the radiation, that it might be affecting them even now, but he didn't care. He wanted to savor this moment and feel it for everything that it could be felt for. He reached up and took her hand. There were no words, so they chose silence to let the moment speak for them.
Markov jumped as the console beeped. He chuckled self-consciously. ″The ship keeps on, doesn't it?″ Something that he'd said to her time and time again in relation to his duty. Whether it was the death of a crewmember, an accident, a mishap, or simply a redirection in orders, the duty never changed. The ship keeps on.
Fleur nodded and he turned towards the console. The snapshots were perfect in clarity. He pieced them all together and ran a comparison analysis against the star charts on file, and within seconds they had a position. ″Okay,″ he said. He transferred the information from the console to his minipad. ″Now we can get the hell out of here.″
″Have we drifted far?″ she asked.
″Not as much as I'd feared. We're still well into charted territory. The sooner we leave, the sooner our SOS beacons will be received by the closest outpost. We're maybe a few days away from recovery, if that. We might even be looking at under twenty-four hours.″ He clicked over to Udeh. ″Udeh, Markov. Where are you and Laguardia at?″
″Going through the crew deck. So far nothing. How are things on your end?″
″I have a sounding and our place on the charts. Once we get to the shuttle I'll be able to upload it to the nav computer and we'll be on our way.″
″Just don't die on us, okay Gordon? I'd hate to have to go and search for your HES just to get coordinates.″
″Concerned as ever, Okwu?″
″Brother, we get out of here and the drinks are on me for days. Rec deck?″
″Rec deck. Going back through sciences now. See you in five.″ The call ended and he shook his head. ″We're going to be cutting all of this too damn close if any complications come up.″
They went back through the junction to science deck, Markov with his rifle forward and ready. It was eerie with all the glowing consoles and no one about. He thought of the cargo bay, how he'd stationed all the scientists there to monitor the artifact for activity from the people inside. It was his fault that they were all dead now. In a way, it was his fault for all the casualties. He remembered considering aborting the mission, how his gut instinct had been to turn tail and get the fuck out of there. Bad vibes and instinct had surrounded him the entire time. The only good thing out of this whole fucking mess was Rene. As they came to the lift, listening for anything out of the ordinary, he wondered what was going to happen to them once they left the ship. The doors opened and he turned to her. She looked back and smiled. So did he. Whatever happened, he knew now that they wouldn't be apart. There was enough comfort in that.
They got in and pressed the rec deck icon. The lift rose for a moment then stopped went no further.
″What the hell?″ Markov asked.
Above them there was a thump. Then another. The lift began to shake, slightly at first, then harder. Something was bumping into the fucking lift from outside, maybe crawlers, maybe worse. Inside, the lights on the control panel went out. They'd cut through the fucking power cable!
″Gordon?″ Fleur sounded nervous. Christ, she didn't even have a gun, only that damn plasma scalpel that she'd held on to in medical.
″Don't worry.″ He looked around, thinking rapidly. There was more thumping from all around. Jesus, they sounded crazed. Above them he spied the hatch leading to the top of the lift carriage. It had worked before, ought to work now. ″Turn off your magboots.″
They both went zero g and Gordon kicked up to the ceiling. It only took a moment to unlock the hatch, but he waited, listening to the thumping noise outside. It was next to him, below them, all over on the sides. He had to assume that the crawlers were trying to get in. Anything other than that was a foolish gesture.
He exhaled and turned to Fleur. ″Okay. I'm going to open the hatch. Once I do, I want you to kick out and float up the shaft to the next deck. I'll be right behind you. Okay?″
She nodded, but the fear in her eyes was palpable.
″You'll be fine. Don't give in to the fear.″ He nodded at the scalpel. ″You keep that ready, okay?″
She took the scalpel from her hip where it was locked, and as she held it in her hand she activated it. A soft green glow shaped the blade.
″Alright.″ Markov kept the barrel of the rifle aimed upward at the hatch. He carefully lifted it up and pushed it outward gently, careful not to make too much motion or sound. There was a large thump right next to his head on the outside of the lift and Markov had to bite his lip to keep from shouting. Stay cool, he thought, she's counting on you. He reached for the edge of the hatch and started to pull up slowly when one of the crawlers shoved its head into view inches away from his own. The thick limb wriggled with a stuttering intensity, searching while flailing about. Markov shouted in surprise and fired. The crawler blew apart and the force of the rifle's firing thrust him backwards into the lift. All at once the ceiling came alive as a dozen crawlers came pouring down into the lift through the hatch like a swarm of ants. Fleur screamed; Markov tried to realign himself but firing the weapon had thrown him into an awkward angle. He couldn't get his boots to the floor for leverage.
As he tried to work himself into a position, he saw the crawlers were coming towards him and him only; they must have sensed the heat from the rifle and were gravitating towards it. ″Go!″ he shouted. He fired again and rolled with the backwards thrust, working his position to get his boots against the wall. Maglocks activated and he had leverage again. Fleur kicked herself away from the floor towards the hatch and Markov took aim and blew apart three of the dozen crawlers swarming around him. They were all trying to maintain grip on the carriage with their suckers, making slow going, but one of them leapt from the wall and landed over his face. Markov got his arm up underneath it before it could wrap around his helmet and put the rifle into the belly of the fucker and fired to the result of a new cloud of pus and blood. He couldn't see for a moment, but didn't need to: he deactivated the maglocks and kicked
upward to the hatch, following Fleur, and when he reached the hatch he flipped himself over and fired his rifle on full auto, shooting himself upwards and out of the lift while cutting into the crawlers beneath him.
As he flew backwards out of the hatch one of the crawlers whipped out its thinner, longer arms and wrapped them around Markov's ankle. For a moment he thought he'd lost his motion but then fired another couple of rounds and kept moving upward. He started to reload a new clip into the rifle as the fucking thing started to pull itself up towards his legs. It's reeling itself in, Markov thought, and he fumbled with the clip, distracted. The crawler was only a yard away from his foot and he could see the beak snapping at him from underneath it.
″Gordon!″ It was Fleur. She was above him, holding something in her hand: the plasma scalpel. She threw it carefully in his direction, the blade deactivated, but once he'd caught it he ignited the cutting tool and sliced it through the tendrils around his leg. The crawler spasmed violently and made a horrific shrieking noise. Markov clipped the scalpel to his magbelt and finally loaded the rifle properly. Two careful shots threw him backwards and the crawler became mist.
He looked up towards Fleur; she'd resumed her float upwards and was using the rails for the lift as a handhold to keep herself steady. She halfway to the next deck already, and he was only a few yards behind her. Then he looked down and saw that the half dozen crawlers still remaining were being joined by a small group of humanoids coming up from underneath the lift. Markov realized with horror that he was looking at the last of the engineering crew, still wearing HESs, driven by the crawlers. They weren't quite as agile, but they were quicker, using their human limbs to climb the shaft the same way that Fleur was, while some were kicking from side to side and angling upwards. Markov realized that they were going faster than he was. He was also floating practically in the middle of the shaft, no handholds in reach. He'd have to use the rifle to shoot himself to the other side.
Fleur called out again. He looked up and saw that she had stopped herself at a vent, holding on with one hand and reaching out with the other. She was just barely within reach. All he had to do was reach out his hand and they were home free. He looked down: the fucking drivers were coming faster, like they sensed their prey was about to escape. He fired a couple of rounds at them for good measure and also to speed his ascent, but when he looked up to gauge his distance he saw a driver reaching out from the open vent, gleaming in his fieldlights, about to grab Fleur by the shoulder. There was nothing to do; he began to shout her name but the thing grabbed her and pulled her backwards into the vent. He heard her scream once and that was all.
Everything around him swam. He felt numb; no, no, this wasn't happening. This wasn't fucking happening. ″Rene!″ He shouted her name twice more as he let loose a volley that slammed him into the side of the shaft. Hurriedly he locked the rifle to his back so he could pull himself up the railing. Fuck, fuck, fuck he was going too slow. That thing had moved too goddamn fast and he was moving too goddamn slow. Was she dead? He hadn't seen any blood but she'd only screamed once – what if they took bodies, like harvesters? Oh please, god, don't let that be. That was worse than death.
He almost flew past the vent but managed to grab the upper edge of it, stopping his ascent, and he pulled himself in. Another driver was coming out as he was going in and they collided, face to fucking face and he recoiled at the sight: the lower portion of the driver's helmet had been broken through and away, revealing a massive thick tentacle shoved through where the lower jaw used to be, moving back and forth like an obscene tongue. It wiggled about beneath the crawler draped over the upper part of the helmet. He could even see the outline of the helmet through the skin of the beast. It was all blood and oily slime and slick death inches away from his vision, but it was just as surprised as he was. Markov recovered quicker and grabbed the scalpel from his magbelt and cut into the thing's ″face.″ He drove it deep into the top of where the skull was again and again, and the whole body went into seizure. Markov grabbed the rest of the body – stunned or dying, he didn't care – and threw it out of the vent. It gave no resistance.
Markov turned back to the vent. His lights revealed nothing: no blood, no beast, no Fleur. Fuck! He scrambled along, using his hands and the toes of his boots to keep moving. Each junction he came to he slammed into the side of the duct instead of slowing down. There was no way of telling which way the fucking thing had gone. He'd lost her. He'd fucking lost her!
″Gordon!″ Her voice came over the comm, crackling with static. ″Gordon! Hel – ″
″Rene!″ he shouted back. He looked up and down the length of the duct around him, as if he were expecting her to be there, or anywhere within sight. God damn him, he was a fucking idiot and a fool. He had to talk to her. ″Rene! Where are you? Where are you?!″
″Gordon!″
″Rene!″ He was panicking. Shit, he couldn't afford to panic. If he panicked he lost her.
″Lower! I'm going – ″ In and out, in and out, the damn static was making it almost impossible to hear. ″ – rdon! Oh god it hurts! I can't – edical! Medical! No, lower! Gordon help m – ″
And that was it. The signal cut out completely and her voice was gone. ″Fuck!″ He screamed and punched the duct wall. He punched it again. ″Fuck!″
No, don't panic. Think! Yelling and punching wasn't going to get her back. She said medical. Then lower. Where the fuck was it taking her? If it was harvesting, gathering bodies, and it hadn't killed her – Christ, he hoped it hadn't – then where was it fucking going? The artifact? Had to be; everything was coming out of there, including something big and fucking nasty if Laguardia was right. It was the only destination that made sense right now, and it was a long shot even with that.
He had a choice: Rene Fleur or escape. Markov didn't think he had time for both. And even if he went after her, he wasn't foolish enough to think he would actually find her, and if he did, find her alive. If she wasn't dead then she would soon be a husk for one of those things. His instinct told him to turn and run and leave, to get the hell out now while he still had a chance.
But god, what use did he have now if she was dead?
There was no turning away from her. He called up Udeh on his comm and started moving. ″Okwu! Come in!″
″Gordon? What the hell happened?″
″We were ambushed! A bunch of fucking crawlers and other things came up the lift shaft and shut down the lift. Don't bother with the rec deck, just get to the shuttle bay any way that you can. I'm going to transmit the navigation data I collected to your HES. If you get to the shuttle before I do, use it and get the hell off the ship.″
There was no response for a moment. ″Gordon, what are you doing?″
″I can't leave anyone behind, Okwu. You know the drill: captain goes down with the ship.″ He smiled to himself. So many sayings. The captain can't. The ship keeps on. Captain goes down with the ship. This was supposed to be his last mission and everything. Home. Maybe even a trip to Russia, see the home of his ancestry, something he'd always told himself that he'd do. Now he was going after the woman he loved on an alien-infested starship.
″Gordon, listen to me. You have to think clearly. Get to the shuttle bay. Whoever was with you is gone by now, especially if they were taken by one of those things. You've seen it. Think clearly!″
″I can't leave her behind, Okwu. I have to go.″
″Her? Her who? Gordon!″
″No time. I'm transmitting now.″ Markov ended the call and began to transmit the nav info as a data package. When he was satisfied that it had sent, he turned off his comm and kept going. He had no real plans to meet them at the shuttle bay at all. Deep in his stomach, Gordon Markov had a feeling that he was scurrying right into his own demise, all for a ghost of a chance. That was fine by him. He'd come this far for that chance already; he'd do anything to keep pursuing it.
***
They had made it to the shuttle bay and booted up the local system control
s, but Straub still felt uneasy.
He kept going over it in his mind: what was wrong with Mac? At first it seemed like nothing. But that was the problem: something was wrong. Had to be. The logic was there, the proverbial equation was right, but more than that it was pure intuition that Straub had to go on. So far there was something wrong with everyone on the ship. Something. His own personal something sounded like it was a few decks upward, still whispering, now moaning, lonesome, wondering why he'd abandoned her. Asking him for things. Asking him to come and kiss her goodbye at least. And why the fuck was that? Maybe he felt guilty about sleeping with Kerrick, but at this point he wasn't sure it was that kind of guilt. He was wondering now if there was a part of him that had survivor's guilt and wished he was dead too, to be with Sarah. That was why the voice was calling him to the crew deck. To stay on the ship with her. Suicide.
Well, fuck that.
But Mac, however. There was nothing visually wrong. Nothing stated, nothing overt. But the little things kept popping out. Mac was quick with the answer to fix things, but never seemed to get it right. Maybe he was unsure of himself. Maybe Mac held no confidence in his own abilities as the chief engineer on the ship. Or maybe it was just that so many things had gone wrong already that Mac really was shaken by it. Who wouldn't be? It would be as if a surgeon had lost every patient he'd worked on and had become dissuaded with his own skill in surgery. Hadn't he done the wiring right? Of course he had; he'd taken the proper steps, fixed the patient, sewn them back up properly. But still they'd died. What happened?
Straub had a thought. He didn't like it.
There were multiple platforms in the shuttle bay, connected to docking ramps that currently held two shuttles and the Prometheus Captain's Boat. Mac was out on Platform 2, just beneath Platform 1. Each of those docks held the Icarus shuttles. Across the width of the bay on the opposite end was Udeh's Captain's Boat. Straub watched from the portmaster control room as Mac entered shuttlecraft Icarus-1 to get it booted up. Then Straub turned to Collins, who was in the control room with him. She was going over flight prep, readying the shuttle bay doors to open via remote.