The Harbinger

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The Harbinger Page 6

by Graham Leslie


  Suddenly it’s hot. Very hot. Hot and humid, like working in a confined access space without proper ventilation. It’s black all around.

  What did I just drop in to? I look up but see nothing, not even the deck above. I reach my hands out to the sides, but there’s nothing there. Then I feel something. The brush of my fingers against, yes, against another person’s fingers. An intimate touch I haven’t felt in a long time. I savor it for a split second. I turn my head towards the feeling.

  I’m looking at the person from Earth. They reach their hand out, staring through bleak grey eyes, sunken in a ruined face. They say nothing. I pull my hand back.

  Suddenly, everywhere. I’m in a space the size of the access panel, but the walls are lined with layered bodies. Filthy bodies, covered in boils, ragged clothing, sores, radiation, death. They cover every surface. Bodies all the way down. They all reach their arms, legs, and heads. They surround me in every direction except for down. I drift through their fingers, slipping through their sickly grip.

  Oh god, get me out of here.

  I close my eyes and bring my arms in close. Then my feet touch something, and it’s silent.

  I open my eyes. I’m on the deck at the midpoint of the ship, facing the Spine. Holy shit, I made it. Now-dead Chip rests secured against the ceiling ahead of me, wires exposed from a cracked protective cover. I peer past, searching for threats, but the large Yunbow fabricator blocks my view. It sits angled in the indented deck; one come-along snapped but the other three holding it in position. Beyond is the Spine, and beyond that is the docking port where the tattered Harbinger is conjoined. Somewhere beyond my view is the figure in the red spacesuit. The one who stared me down through the scopes.

  Time to get out of this ship. I pivot to face the other way, and bend my knees, preparing to push-off towards the cabinets with the space suits. My ticket out of here.

  Oh god.

  Chapter 9

  The figure in the red space suit stands before me. Its back is to me, stopped, motionless. It holds one of my space suits in its hand, its helmet tilted forward, presumably inspecting it. Its suit is old, very old, and a dark, blood red. It’s scarred with tears and stains I assume are as old as its ship. Across its back is the tattered black print of Commander and The Harbinger. Its feet are planted on the deck, standing in the zero-g environment like it has gravity of its own. It is tall, and stands straight. Surrounding it is the black aura that surrounded the Harbinger.

  For a moment I think I can get away, but I’m petrified. I can’t move, and I watch as its helmeted head begins to turn. It rotates slowly, the seals stretching and creaking. It rotates. It rotates. And it rotates, until it’s turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees. The black-glass helmet faces me. God help me. Then, it speaks. I don’t hear a voice but I know what it says, almost like it takes control of my thoughts and speaks to me through my own mind.

  “There is no god here,” it says, then, “nor will there be life.” Then I understand, as if its motives cross in to my mind for just a moment.

  I feel it.

  The thing is not from our solar system. It was before, somehow, but now it’s from somewhere beyond. And now it returns, hungry. Hungry to devour life, all that it can find. It passed through the colonies on the distant moons, ending with Rhea. Rhea burns because this thing entered the minds of the colonists and told them to burn it. The Watney burns because it made the crew blow the fusion core. The Nero family ships burn because it made them fire on each other.

  This creature doesn’t just bring death — it is death itself.

  It slowly and deliberately tosses my space suit aside. The suit drifts away in zero-g, but I don’t dare look away to see where it goes. My eyes are transfixed by this creature. I can’t imagine what’s underneath. It wears the space suit of a man. It thought to me in the language of a man. But if there was a man inside, it is man no more. It is something else. It takes a slow step backward, towards me, its helmet still turned entirely backwards.

  The pitch black visor is still trained on me as it takes slow steps. The old boots come down against the rusted metal deck; the dull impact sends shivers down my spine. The horror of the sight courses through my body like ice through my veins. I’ve never felt such terror.

  My heart is racing.

  A step. Another step. I stand frozen. Then, snow erupts from behind him. A flurry. It sweeps across the deck. Snowflakes cut through the space between us, quickly accelerating into a storm. They drown the backdrop of the Riyadh, encircling us in blurred white. The storm swirls with terrible force, a stark contrast to his blood red suit and pitch black helmet.

  I’m frozen in place, awaiting certain death.

  In an instant, the snow turns blood red, like its suit. I begin to lose sight of all but the pitch black helmet, drawing in closer and closer. Everything around us is blood red. My vision closes in until all I can see is the helmet. It’s nearly on me. Then everything turns to black.

  Chapter 10

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  I gasp for air.

  I’m alive. Holy hell, I’m alive! Nearly everything hurts, but I’m alive.

  I’m still on the deck by the EVA port, resting against the floor. I look across my body and realize I’m unharmed. My heart malfunctioned under the stress and stopped again. Then it hits me. The thing must have thought I was dead. It passed me up.

  My shitty cybernetic components saved me. I’ve got another chance.

  Ignoring the pain in my head and chest, I look around to take in my surroundings. I’m alone. It must have headed up the Spine to Ops to commandeer the ship.

  My suit! My space suit is laid on the floor against the far wall where the thing tossed it in zero-g. I can escape!

  I unsteadily get to my feet and stumble over to the wall where my suit lays in a pile, pick up the bottom, and begin slipping it on. I slip my feet through the legs into the boots and pull the lower half up to my waistline, and then pull the top half over me. I push my hands through the suit until my fingers reach the tips of the gloves, then I reach down and rest the oval ring of the top half into the bottom half to connect the seal. I reach to my hips and clamp the rings together. The helmet should still be in the EVA cabinet. I slowly walk over in the thick-skinned suit, open the cabinet, fish out my helmet, and place it over my head and align the seals, then I clamp the helmet rings together. I reach behind and find the air tube and magnetically snap it into the inlet in my helmet. The airflow begins automatically, and my ears pop as the suit pressurizes with stale air. I tear my multi-tool off my back and set it in the cabinet where the helmet rested, grab two air tanks out from below, and swing them around to magnetically attach them to my back.

  I’m finally going to get out of here.

  I waddle the few paces to the EVA port, and wave my hand to bring up the holographic airlock controls. I’m just about to open the inner door when it hits me.

  I’m not floating.

  We’re under thrust.

  The ship couldn’t be under thrust from the ion jets because the reactor is out, so we must be under thrust from the airjets. There’s not enough air in the tanks for a constant burn from the airjets for a very far distance, which means —

  Europa.

  We are accelerating once again toward Europa, the moon with the most distant elliptical orbit around Jupiter and currently closest on course from Rhea. Europa’s under-ice settlements and drill stations supply water to each of the Jovian moons. He will kill everyone, and when the water runs out, the Jovians will die of thirst if he doesn’t get to them first. What’s next? The space docks of Ganymede? The shipyards of Io? The agricultural domes of Callisto? Then Mars, the most populated point in the solar system? Shit. I can’t just escape like this. I could get away and drift off but rescue may never come if this bastard makes it all the way to the core.

  I pull my hands away from the holographic controls, and think.

  Think, Apollo. Think.

  Then it hits me. I
’ve got a plan.

  First, I stumble over and scoop up the multi-tool I took off my back earlier, and keep it firmly in my left hand. Then, I make my way to the edge of the cargo deck where it meets the Spine. I carefully peer up the Spine through the visor of my EVA helmet, but it looks all clear. Still, I’m not going to take any unnecessary chances. Satisfied that I’m safe for the moment, I pull the heavy air tanks off my back and place them on the edge of the deck by the Spine, then I attach the multi-tool on my lower back in their place.

  I make my way back towards the EVA port and stop short, below where Chip is dangling from the ceiling by the webbed netting holding him in place. I closely inspect the agent. It looks like the damage was to the wire bundle connecting his central processing unit to the rest of his components; disconnected wires with clearly torn ends are exposed through a crack in the protective cover. I pop off the cracked snap-in-place plastic cover and quietly rest it on the floor, then I search for where the wire bundle should be attached. The bundle was originally snapped in, but the wires were ripped from the plastic connector by the impact that cracked the protective cover. I pry off the broken connector and toss it aside, and look at the bundle of metal contacts.

  This may actually work.

  I grab the multi-tool and give it a shake to wake it up, then I tap through the safety warning and select the precision soldering tool. The capacitors are immediately charged for low voltage soldering so I get to work, soldering each wire to its metal connection. Luckily, the wires are color-coded and correspond to colored dots on the circuit board.

  One at a time, the connections are restored. Elements of the agent come alive; LEDs light and actuators move as the agent runs its self-diagnostics. Finally, I make the last connection, and the agent begins its normal boot sequence. I wait a few moments, and Chip comes to life. I place the multi-tool securely on my back.

  I check the holographic readout on the back of my left glove. The ship networks are still down. I can still make this work. I grab the agent from either side and pivot it around, suspended in the cargo netting, until I find the forward microphone. I pull Chip towards me until the microphone touches my helmet’s visor.

  “Chip, blink your LEDs if you can hear me,” I command. The LEDs blink. The sound is traveling through vibrations in the plastic helmet. Perfect. Back from the dead.

  I give my commands to Chip, and he acknowledges. Chip’s undercarriage ion jet glows, and the agent levitates just a bit to create some slack in the web netting holding it. I work an opening into the netting for him to escape. He slowly moves out the gap, fires his ion jets, and zips off to complete his task. Thanks, Chip.

  It’s time for me to get a victory.

  I head back to the Spine and walk around the perimeter of the gap until I reach the opening to the agent maintenance shaft that runs from the air tanks up to the emergency EVA port. This is going to suck. Survival, I remind myself.

  I drop down to my ass, slip my legs inside the shaft, and in slide until my boots are on top of one of the rungs of the ladder inside. I slide all the way in and grab the rungs above me. Not a lot of room, but we’re going to make this work. Rung-by-rung, I climb my way up the service tunnel. My suit is heavy, even in the low gravity. My shoulder is screaming in pain, but I fight through it. The blood clotted while I was out but I must have split the wound back open again. Warm blood begins to pool between my skin and the skin-tight suit. I keep climbing. Almost there.

  I reach the top of the tunnel and peer out, looking around the top of the ship. I can see the corridor leading to my quarters, then directly above me, the emergency EVA port. Behind and above me is Ops, presumably where the creature in the red suit stands, ready to destroy me when he learns I’m still alive. I’m only going to have one shot at this.

  I slip up and out of the service tunnel and quickly climb the remaining length of the ladder to the emergency EVA port above the Spine. With my good hand gripping the top rung of the ladder, I raise my right arm and wave my hand to activate the EVA port controls. I feel pain like a knife in my shoulder.

  “Focus”, I whisper to myself. I’m in plain sight and need to hurry.

  I give the command to open the inner airlock port. It opens, exposing the next few rungs of the ladder.

  Shit. Heavy boots on metal deck. He’s coming.

  I get about halfway into the airlock, then I reach behind me and pull off my multi-tool. I quickly shake it alive, even before I meant to; my hands are shaking. I pull up my inflexible leg to form a level surface on my thigh and barely balance the multi-tool on it, then I wave my hand above it. Need to hurry up. Dammit safety warning! I tap through it. My hands are shaking. I select the welder option, and wait for the capacitors to charge. It’s getting hard to hold myself up. Finally, the capacitors are charged.

  Heavier boots. He’s closing in.

  I point the end of the welder to the seam between the open inner EVA port door and bulkhead and I pull the trigger. A ball of molten metal forms and tack welds to the door to the bulkhead, preventing the safety mechanism from automatically closing the strong inner airlock door in the event of a breach.

  I hear a heavy step. He’s right below me. Going to have to take the fast route.

  I look down and square up with the access panel in the Spine elevator below me and, aided by gravity from the Riyadh’s thrust, I push off the top ladder rung as hard as I can with the hand that was holding me up, using momentum and gravity from the burn to propel myself, fast. I drop feet-first through the corridor and for a brief moment I’m face-to-face with the creature in the red suit. I manage to barely give him the middle finger through my inflexible glove as I fly past.

  I shoot through the top deck, threading through the open access panel in the service elevator. I barrel down the Spine. I’m coming in too fast! If I screw this up, I’ll hit the far side of the Spine and breach my suit and the plan is shot.

  I’m almost to the midpoint on exactly the angle I wanted, at the edge of the Spine. One chance. I reach out and grab a passing oh-shit handle with both hands, and grip with all my might. I grab it and slam into the bulkhead. The impact is painful, but I’m hanging on. Holy shit, I made it. My shoulder is on fire, but the adrenaline is helping me push through it. Come on, move! I swing in to the middle deck below and drop to land on the edge, next to the air tanks I left, facing the EVA port.

  I quickly reach down and grab the wobbling air tanks and swing them around to my back. The magnetic panel grabs them, but it was a mistake. I’m falling backwards into the Spine!

  I quickly bend my knees, then push off with all my force. In the low gravity, I sail over the Spine, eyes up, and see the red space suit on its way down, the creature having realized its prey was still fair game. I reach the other side of the deck and skid across, but roll over and scurry with my hands and feet, grabbing anything I can, and launch myself across the deck and finally into the docking port. I scramble to quickly cycle the airlock. Just before the inner port closes, I bring up the holographic display on the back of my left hand, and activate my external suit speakers.

  “Chip, now!”

  Chapter 11

  From the view in space, the Riyadh and Harbinger are conjoined at their docking points, two damaged vessels under thrust through the abyss, headed towards the core. Inside the Riyadh, in a dark, unlit section of the ship, the repaired agent with Chip painted on its side touches its precision plasma torch to the surface-rusted metal of the starboard air tank and it activates the hot end. The point of contact on the metal enclosing highly compressed air heats, bubbles, and eventually punctures. Air erupts from the air tanks with unbelievable force, reducing Chip to his component pieces, tears through the decks, and barrels up the Spine. In an instant, the air travels the length of the ship and blows the outer emergency EVA port doors off into space. A safety control attempts to slam the inner airlock door shut to prevent a total decompression, but the the inner airlock is welded in place. An enormous kinetic force releases from the
front of the Riyadh.

  Simultaneously, the creature in the red space suit is thrown into a bulkhead in a blur of fierce motion. Caught by surprise by an unstoppable power, pain which it had not felt in some time erupts through its body. The black aura dims.

  The powerful decompression immediately fractures the cold docking clamps, and the Riyadh is torn from the Harbinger. As air blows from the front of the vessel, the Riyadh reaches zero velocity, then begins accelerating away from the core. The vessel continues accelerating in the reverse direction until all air escapes the tanks, its eternal course set. The creature within is kept alive by some otherworldly power, but some part of it is still human, and that part is broken. The black aura is faint. This time, it cannot muster the will to change the course of the vessel.

  The Harbinger, separated from the Riyadh, continues on towards the core. Onboard, Apollo, beaten and bruised, drifts through the ship. No longer harboring the creature in the red space suit, the evil is gone, leaving just a battered ship and an equally battered spacefarer. Apollo breaths a sigh of relief, realizing he is no longer prey to an other-worldy predator, and his mind is tired but free of the creature’s deceptions. After traveling through open port and breached bulkhead, Apollo reaches the Ops deck of the Harbinger, tethers himself to some exposed metal, and goes limp from exhaustion. He sets his suit to notify him when air is low, so he can switch to the external tanks he brought with him, which should provide him with breathable air from some time. He closes his eyes for a well-earned rest.

  Epilogue

  Some distance from their port, small spacecraft devoid of any markings that would identify them as belonging to the Martian Democratic Navy use small blasts from their airjets to maneuver the ragged hull of the massive vessel to a gentle stop. As they carefully pull their tethered cargo, the lights at the nose of their craft illuminate the enormous matte-black tarps that form a cube, enclosing the area. After enormous budgets feeding years of research, the navy labs on-planet decided that the best solution to hide something in space is to simply throw a blanket over it. Scopes can only scan so much of the enormous expanse at a time, and it would take either extraordinary coverage and resolution or sheer luck to discover the tiny black cube against its equally black backdrop.

 

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