Silent Order: Eclipse Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “See if you can check the dorsal area of the ship for any active macrobes,” said March. “There will be a lot of utility corridors by the shopping promenade – hookups for water, service entrances for the employees, and so forth. We can probably use those to avoid any roaming macrobes.”

  Cassandra nodded and tapped commands into her phone.

  “A few,” said Cassandra. “Mainly scattered towards the bow area of the promenade, if my guess is right. But, uh...if they’re asleep, we could walk into a bunch of them.”

  March nodded. “That’s what this is for.” He tapped the pistol with his left hand. “It...”

  A screen over the control panel flared to life, playing loud music. Cassandra flinched and shrieked in surprise, and March’s gun snapped up to point at the screen. The attractive woman from the commercial about the retail promenade appeared on the screen, smiling as she gestured at a busy-looking shop behind her.

  “Welcome to the RCS Alpine,” said the woman. “As a valued guest aboard our starliner, you are entitled to fifteen percent off select categories of exclusive merchandise in our welcoming...”

  “For God’s sake,” muttered March, and he drove his left fist into the speaker below the monitor.

  There was a sputtering noise, a pop, and the woman’s image fell silent as she offered twenty percent off appetizers at any of the promenade’s restaurants.

  Cassandra let out a shaky laugh. “I thought that was another macrobe for a minute.” She hesitated. “Can I tell you something?”

  “If you like,” said March, glancing at the control panel. “But bear in mind that we only have another two minutes of ride left, and this isn’t really the time for personal confession.”

  “No,” said Cassandra. “But I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared in my life. I wasn’t this scared when the starfighters almost shot down my shuttle.”

  “Good,” said March.

  “How is that possibly good?”

  “Means you’re not an idiot,” said March. “That’s good. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared. I’d rather be at my favorite restaurant on Constantinople Station, drinking coffee and having vat-grown eggs for breakfast. Not here punching macrobes to death.” He looked her in the eye. “The fear keeps you from doing stupid things. But we’re in a serious mess here. The only way out is to keep moving. Listen to the fear, but don’t let it tell you what to do. Because if you do, you’ll run and try to hide somewhere, and then you’re dead.”

  She hesitated. “You’ve done this kind of thing a lot.”

  “Afraid so.”

  “How do you keep from getting terrified?”

  “Who says I’m not?” said March. “But I have my mission. My duty is to finish the mission. That’s what I think about. And you’re better at dealing with fear than you think.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  March snorted. “The Oradrean secret police have a fearsome reputation. But you stole a shuttle from under their noses and got a dozen hyperjumps from Oradrea before they caught up with you. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Yerzhov, but you already have experience dealing with fear.”

  She blinked and burst out laughing. “If that’s disappointing, you should disappoint me more often.”

  The lift beeped, the whir of the motors fading.

  “Ready?” said March, leveling his pistol at the doors.

  “Yeah,” said Cassandra.

  “Then wait behind me.”

  She didn’t argue. March kept his gun pointed at the doors with his right hand, his left drawn back into a fist to strike. The lift came to a stop, and the doors slid open with a gentle hiss.

  Nothing happened.

  March stepped forward, pistol ready, and scanned his surroundings.

  They had arrived on the shopping promenade, and March had to admit the woman in the commercial had not been exaggerating. It was indeed a nice-looking promenade. A curved roof of transparent metal stretched overhead, offering a splendid view of the stars. The wide floor had been covered in tiles that almost looked like polished marble. Shops and restaurants stretched down either side of the promenade, and spiraling stairs with ornamental metal railings led to the second level, which hosted even more shops and restaurants. Fountains stood here and there on the main level. Water was too valuable to waste as decoration on a starship, even on a starliner, so a combination of lighting and holographic trickery created the illusion of water. The entire place looked tasteful and refined and massively overpriced. March doubted any of the restaurants would have served vat-grown eggs and bacon.

  He wondered if any of the customers or the staff had survived.

  “That was kind of anticlimactic,” said Cassandra.

  “I could do with more anticlimax,” said March.

  “I don’t know,” said Cassandra. “A climactic ending is kind of fun. At least...er...” She went red again, and March decided to ignore the innuendo. At least jokes and embarrassment would give her something to think about other than the prospect of bloody death.

  “Let’s head to the second level,” said March, gesturing towards one of the spiral stairs. “We’ll have a better view, and if the macrobes come at us, we’ll at least have a chance of getting them in a bottleneck on the stairs.”

  He started up the stairs, Cassandra behind him, and came to the second level. March found himself in front of a restaurant that looked as if it had once specialized in overpriced hamburgers. All the windows had been smashed, glass scattered across the fake marble of the floor, and a dozen dead men and women lay before the doors in a pool of blood. To judge from the position of the corpses, it looked as if they had been fleeing from the restaurant and been cut down.

  “There’s a pair of macrobes in there,” said Cassandra, glancing at her phone. “Uh. I think they’re in the kitchens.”

  “We’ll let them have their privacy,” said March.

  They continued down the promenade balcony, keeping close to the railing overlooking the main floor. The walk was a surreal experience. The promenade resembled dozens of others that March had visited over the years, but every few meters he saw a scene of horror. They passed a shop selling souvenir hats, and the racks of hats had been spattered with blood. A motionless hand lay beneath one of the racks, and March wasn’t sure if it was attached to anything. Every bottle in a liquor store had been smashed, the smell of spirits strong enough to make March’s nose tingle.

  It was also strong enough to drown the smell of blood from the row of severed heads that had been set on the liquor store’s counter.

  “Why did they do that?” whispered Cassandra.

  “Insane, remember,” said March.

  Cassandra nodded and said nothing more.

  After about a kilometer of walking the end of the promenade came into sight. At the stern end of the promenade was a massive domed entertainment complex that held a pair of swimming pools, several movie theaters, more restaurants, and a set of rides designed for small children. There were also about fifty corpses scattered before the doors to the complex, their blood spattered around them.

  “We don’t have to go in there, do we?” said Cassandra.

  “No,” said March, pointing. At the end of the balcony stood six lift doors. “One of those will take us down to the engineering level. It...”

  The third lift door beeped, the lights overhead coming to life.

  “Oh, shit,” said Cassandra. “Major quantum distortions in that lift car. I think there are a couple of macrobes coming up the lift."

  “Damn it,” said March, looking around. He hadn’t seen any macrobes in the open on the promenade. Likely after slaughtering all the diners and the shoppers, the creatures had scattered in pursuit of other prey. There was no obvious place for cover, and March did not want to try and fight the macrobes unless there was no other choice. They had been fortunate so far, but if March’s aim had been a little worse or his reflexes a little slower, the macrobe in the repair shop or the passenger lounge would have
killed them both. Even with his cybernetic arm, he would be no match physically for a single macrobe, and their strange glowing tumors seemed capable of absorbing the radiation of plasma bolts. If they encountered a single macrobe, March had one shot, and if he missed, they were dead. If they encountered a group of macrobes, they were likely dead as well.

  There was no cover on the promenade, but they were in front of a restaurant. It was a big place with glass walls, and a long grill running along the far wall. The restaurant’s sign proclaimed that it sold grill-seared steaks and vegetables. There were nearly a hundred tables and as many booths, and that meant there were dozens of hiding places.

  “Any macrobes in there?” said March.

  The lift beeped again.

  “No,” said Cassandra. “Not unless they’re sleeping.”

  “We’ll have to take that chance,” said March.

  He pulled open one of the glass doors and stepped inside.

  Thankfully, the interior of the restaurant smelled not of blood but of grill smoke and cooked meat. March didn’t see any bodies, and the aisles between the tables and chairs were narrow enough that the typical macrobe couldn’t have moved through the dining room without creating a mess. Likely this restaurant had been closed when the Alpine’s resonator coils had failed.

  “Good morning, good sir, good lady,” said a smooth voice.

  March whirled and almost blew the head off an android that waddled towards him.

  It was only about five feet tall, humanoid, and encased in a chunky white shell that gave it a human-ish appearance without triggering the uncanny valley effect. The android had cheerful looking white LEDs for eyes, the plastic of its head casing styled to create the impression of a smile, and its gestures had been programmed to convey perky good humor.

  “I am sorry, but the Alpine’s Grill and Tap, the finest restaurant on the ship, is closed until the evening cycle of shipboard time,” said the android, its voice apologetic. “If you and your companion would please return in a few hours, we would be delighted to...”

  “Stop talking, please,” said March.

  The android shut up.

  “That’s not a security drone?” said Cassandra.

  “No. Courtesy android. Native-born Calaskarans seem to love the damned things for some reason,” said March. He hurried past the tables, heading towards the long grilling counter. The android looked after them with consternation. “It must not be networked with the ship’s computer. Else it would be telling us to take shelter in the cabins until we heard from the crew. Behind here.”

  Cassandra scrambled behind the grill and went to her knees, and March followed suit, peering around the corner. The android glanced at them once more, decided that they were beyond its field of responsibility, and then resumed its post at the door.

  A heartbeat later the macrobes came into sight.

  Cassandra flinched, a shiver going through her frame.

  There were six of the creatures. One looked like the macrobe they had fought in the repair shop, a ghastly hybrid of spider, scorpion, and human. Another looked like a serpent with a human torso, mucus glistening on its flanks. Still another looked like a bird, albeit with slime-covered vestigial wings incapable of flight, but with foot-long talons that left scrapes in the deck tiles. A fourth appeared reptilian, six clawed legs propelling it along. Every one of the macrobes had those strange blue-glowing tumors covering their bodies, painting the walls and floor with eerie light, the same light shining in their maddened eyes.

  Cassandra kept tapping at her phone, and March realized she was configuring the computer tablet back on the Eclipse to record its observations in the log files. Despite the peril, a flicker of amusement went through him. The woman was indeed a scientist. Likely she would keep recording data right up until the moment something killed her.

  Which might come soon.

  The spider-like macrobe turned and smashed the glass doors into glittering shards with casual strength. The creature climbed through the wreckage and into the restaurant, glass shards grating beneath its spiked legs.

  The courtesy android hurried forward.

  “Pardon, good sir!” said the android. “Please refrain from damaging the property of Royal Calaskaran Starlines! Remain where you are until a manager can speak with you. Are you in need of emergency assistance?”

  The macrobe considered this.

  “Flesh,” the creature said at last, its blue-glowing eyes regarding the android. Its voice was the worst part of all. It seemed so normal coming from the macrobe-distorted flesh.

  March’s fingers tightened against the grip of his gun. Did the creature know that he and Cassandra were here?

  “We serve a variety of meats, sir,” said the android, “seasoned and prepared to your liking.”

  “Human flesh,” said the macrobe.

  It stepped forward, the other creatures looming behind it.

  “I am sorry, sir,” said the android, “but the consumption of human flesh, whether by humans or alien species, is strictly forbidden in the Kingdom of Calaskar and is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “In the previous life,” said the macrobe, almost conversationally, “I remember the taste of meat, the taste of vegetables, the taste of bread and fruit. But the previous life was only a dream. I have awakened now. I hunger, and there is only one thing that can sate my hunger. Human flesh, hot and raw and dripping.”

  The android started to repeat its warning about the illegality of cannibalism.

  “What is the appetizer for the feast?” said the macrobe. “Destruction.”

  With that, two of its legs speared the courtesy android through the chest. The android continued its warning for a few words, and then went limp, the LEDs in its eyes going out. The macrobe made a contemptuous flick of its legs, and the android crashed into a table, silverware clattering and glass shattering.

  The macrobe prowled further into the restaurant, nostrils flaring, tumors pulsing. The other creatures followed.

  March tapped Cassandra on the shoulder, and she looked at him, eyes wild with fear. He leaned close and whispered into her ear, praying that the macrobe didn’t have unnaturally good hearing.

  “Nod if you can see the kitchen door behind us,” hissed March. She nodded. “I’m sliding a grenade with a five-second fuse across the floor. When it goes off, we’re running for the kitchen. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded again.

  March slipped a grenade from his bandoleer, set the fuse for five seconds, and peered around the corner of the grill. The macrobes remained bunched together by the shattered doors, looking around and sniffing the air. He slid it across the floor like a hockey puck. His aim was good, and the grenade slid to a halt right beneath the abdomen of the spider-like macrobe. March ducked back behind the grill.

  Two seconds later the grenade went off.

  In the enclosed space of the restaurant, the roar of the explosion was tremendous. The blast shattered more of the front windows, and silverware and broken plates tumbled in all directions. The spider-like macrobe must have been torn apart in the explosion because March saw two of its legs and chunks of its armored carapace bounce across the floor. The other macrobes roared in fury, and March jumped to his feet and risked a look towards the doors. The explosion had killed the spider-like macrobe and wounded the five others.

  As one, they turned to look at him.

  “Go!” said March.

  He raised his pistol and fired, and his aim was good. The blast scorched through the head of a snake-like macrobe, and the creature collapsed. Cassandra got to her feet, and together they ran for the kitchen door, March firing over his shoulder. The surviving macrobes surged after them, kicking aside chairs and tables in their haste.

  They burst through the door and into the kitchen. Stainless steel counters gleamed under bright white lights, and March took a quick look around. On the other side of a long counter he spotted a row of commercial freezers, and next to the freeze
rs…

  “There!” said March.

  He ran across the kitchen, Cassandra following, and came to a narrow access door next to the freezers. It was locked, but two quick shots from his plasma pistol burned through the mechanism, and March kicked the door open. Beyond was a narrow utility corridor, the walls lined with metal pipes and bundles of wires, and March squeezed inside, Cassandra right behind him.

  “Which way?” said Cassandra.

  “Can you detect any other macrobes nearby?” said March.

  “Just the ones behind us,” said Cassandra.

  Crashing noises came from the kitchen as the macrobes smashed their way through the door.

  “This way,” said March, pointing towards the stern of the ship. “Maybe we can get into the lift cars from behind. Or take the service ladder down to the engineering section.”

  But he was growing increasingly uncertain of their odds. There were just too many macrobes on the ship. Under other circumstances, he would have retreated to the Tiger, withdrawn from the Alpine, and sent out a distress signal, and hope another ship arrived from hyperspace eventually. Yet Cassandra Yerzhov, the alien relic, and the Eclipse device made for far too many high-value targets aboard the Tiger, and March doubted that President Murdan’s secret police and the Machinists had given up their respective searches for Cassandra and the relic. Sooner or later, enemies were going to arrive in JX2278C, and March wanted to be gone by the time they did.

  Though if he and Cassandra were dead by then, the enemy could help themselves to the Tiger and its cargo.

  “Do you think they’ll be able to squeeze into the doorway behind us?” said Cassandra.

  “Maybe,” said March. “Let’s not wait around to find out.”

  They hurried down the narrow corridor, the wiring racks and pipe mounts sometimes tugging at March’s sleeves as he squeezed past. The labels on the pipes changed, and March saw power feeds for the lift equipment. They came to a door labeled LIFT CONTROL ACCESS.

  “We’re in luck,” said March. “There ought to be a maintenance shaft running alongside the main lift shafts. Hopefully, we can climb down to the engineering section. Any macrobes?”