by S. A. Lusher
Martel rolled her eyes. “Don't push your luck, Greg...we'll see, okay? First do your chores, then we'll talk.”
“Deal,” he said.
* * * * *
Jennifer realized that her legs were starting to hurt.
She reached up and brought the speed back down a bit. She'd been running along at five miles an hour on the treadmill for quite a while now. Glancing at the screen built into it, she realized that she was closing in on ten miles. She brought it back down to a brisk walk, figuring she needed to cool down for a few minutes.
She knew she'd been pushing herself harder over the past few weeks, ever since returning from the mission on the asteroid. Although the mission had technically been a success, she couldn't stop thinking about how fucked up it had all gotten and how terrified she had been. Jennifer liked to think that she'd conquered a hell of a lot in her life. It took a lot of bravery to sign up for corporate security, working in places like deep space mining operations, isolated research vessels or any number of shady operations in the galaxy.
Facing down death, exchanging bullets with psychos and working grueling hours had become part of the job. She'd been at it for years now. Facing down the horrors created by the Necro Virus on the Cimmerian had taken everything in her to get through, but it had been a kind of nightmare that she at least felt capable of dealing with. She'd kept her head, paid attention and relied on her survival skills that she'd spent years building.
But the creature she'd faced on the mining installation had been something else entirely, and it had awoken in her a fear she hadn't dealt with for a long time.
The fear that she wasn't good enough.
The problem was that this wasn't just simple paranoia or regular doubts that everyone had. The problem was that she might actually not be good enough for this job because before, she could plan, she could train, she felt that she could reasonably assume the kind of threats she'd be facing out there in the galaxy.
But that was no longer true.
Between zombies, the weird insurgents they'd been looking for, the shit the others had told her about and a creature that defied physical reality, she realized that she couldn't predict at all what was waiting for her in the future.
What secrets did Ash contain?
The information was so slim that it could be fucking anything.
So how to handle this? The only way she knew how to react to these perfectly legitimate feelings of inadequacy was to train hard. So, here she was. She'd spent two hours working out and another two on the shooting range, then she'd gone back over to the treadmill for some running. This was more to tire herself out than anything else. She wanted to get some sleep before the mission, something more than a nap, since she had no idea what was on the horizon. It would do to be well-rested, well-fed and focused.
Everything else was a throw of the dice.
Jennifer finally finished her cool down and got off the treadmill, going a little over ten miles. She glanced over at Keron. He was lifting weights, still going, totally zoned in to what he was doing. He might as well have been alone. She had no idea how old he was or how long he'd been doing this. The man was a mystery, but he seemed old. It was something in the way he walked, the way he carried himself.
He seemed familiar with death and high stakes.
A good person to have backing you up.
Jennifer took a deep breath and let it out, then wiped her forehead on the back of her hand. She must smell awful. She felt in desperate need of a shower. There were few things as satisfying as a hot shower after an hours' long workout and training session. She headed for the small shower area that was attached to the training room, snagging her duffel bag on the way there. As she stepped into the room, she paused, having a sudden vivid memory of waking up onboard the Cimmerian. And Mark...she shook her head, trying to push aside the guilt she felt at his death. She tossed the duffel bag onto a nearby counter and began to strip down.
First a shower, then she'd memorize the mission parameters, then sleep.
And hopefully she'd survive this next one.
* * * * *
“So, have we got a clear idea on what we're to do?” Greg asked, looking around the galley.
They were almost at Ash now. Everyone had split up, doing the things they needed to do to get ready for the mission ahead, whatever it might bring. Now that they'd had time to rest and study up, he wanted to make sure they were all on the same page.
Everyone said that they did.
“All right. I want to go over it one more time, though. Call me paranoid,” he replied. There were no complaints, which he wasn't sure was necessarily a good thing. It meant that they were all as pensive and worried as he was. “When we touch down, we split into two groups. Eric, Drake and Parker in one group, Keron and Jennifer with me. Drake will lead his team, I'll lead mine. We maintain radio contact and make for our destinations. My team will be hitting up the colony and Drake's team will be investigating the military installation. We are to locate any survivors and any intel on what the hell is going on. Then we make for the research installation.”
“And make sure not to look at any state secrets,” Drake muttered.
Greg snorted. “Yeah, I'll make sure to keep that in mind. Now, any questions?”
There were none.
He nodded, then felt suddenly weird that he was leading this impromptu briefing. It felt like a job for someone else, but no one else had stepped up.
Interrupting this train of thought, the intercom suddenly clicked on. “Guys, we've arrived at Ash and you really need to get up here and see this,” Martel said.
“On our way,” Greg replied.
This didn't bode well.
The group left the galley and hurried through the Raptor to the bridge. Greg was the first one through the door. Immediately, he saw what the problem was.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
“That's...different,” Jennifer murmured.
Through the windows of the bridge, they saw the planet that was Ash. Only it didn't look anything like the planet in the briefing room back aboard the Dauntless. It had transformed from a pale yellow orb to a black sphere shot through with glowing blood-red lines, like the veins of some immense creature. The surface of the planet seemed to be constantly shifting, the effect a little similar to clouds scudding across the moon.
“What the fuck are we getting ourselves into?” Eric whispered.
“Martel...have-have you tried getting in touch?” Greg asked.
“I've been running scans,” she replied, her voice taking on a hard edge, and she looked away from the impossible visage before them. “Attempting contact now.”
They all waited and listened, unable to tear their eyes away from the black and red planet before them, as Martel went through her communication mantra. She called out to the impossible world, trying to raise some sort of response.
After her third try, she received one.
They all did.
The radio began to crackle with what at first sounded like static, but then sound seemed to shatter and broaden, become something else entirely. Slowly, the team's eyes were drawn from the planet to the radio itself. Sounds began to spill out of the speakers. Greg listened intently, trying to discern some kind of meaning from the incoherent madness being relayed to them. It sounded like...voices. Distantly chattering voices, clamoring to be heard. More sounds began to invade the frequency and they listened in growing horror.
Something like a flat, meaty sound, like a dull butcher's knife being hacked into a big piece of meat over and over again, the sound almost, but not quite mechanical.
Something like an electronic screaming rose and fell continuously.
A ripping sound that sounded nightmarishly organic.
And then, abruptly, it all cut off and from the silence that followed came something much worse. A voice, unknown and unknowable in nature, somehow not human, spoke quite clearly. Just two words issues from the radio.
“Fre
sh flesh.”
Then the signal was lost.
“You have got to be shitting me,” Drake muttered, the first one to break the silence.
“Martel, what do the scans say?” Greg asked.
“Uh...nothing. They're flat dead, I'm getting nothing back,” she replied.
He paused for a moment, considering. “Bring us in.”
He expected at least some resistance, but no one said anything. They all knew the score. They had a job to do here.
Ash began to swell in size as they drifted towards it.
CHAPTER 05
–Obsidian Sun Rising–
Greg tried to remain focused as he followed the others back into the armory, but he found it exceedingly difficult.
That display on the bridge had rattled him. He didn't want to admit it, but it was obvious that it had rattled all of them. Well, except for Keron, he seemed like he always did. Putting on his armor should help, he rationalized. But the feeling of creeping dread and slow, ominous horror refused to abate even as he pulled open his personal crate and began pulling on his power armor. He tried to focus on the armory itself. He'd ended up destroying his old armor while investigating a research facility with Enzo, right before the man had betrayed them. Eventually, Hawkins had let him redesign a new suit and here it was.
He liked it. It was black with blue patterns across it and electric blue running lights. The visor was the most interesting of all. Like the previous one, from the outside, it looked like three Vs stacked on top of each other, although the lights had changed from red to blue to match up with the aesthetic. He thought he looked fairly intimidating and it helped in his job. Well, whenever he had to deal with human antagonists.
Or people who annoyed him.
He spent several minutes getting into his suit of powered combat armor. There was no banter, no chatter, nothing spoken as the others got into their own suits. Not a good sign, but how the hell did you break the ice after something like that? Greg finished suiting up by getting his helmet locked down. Once the suit was fully on, he ran a suit-check to ensure that all his systems were fully functional. While it ran, he grabbed his gear.
He'd settled on a big, mean pistol that fired pretty heavy bullets as his primary sidearm and for his primary weapon, he'd grabbed a modified standard issue rifle that came standard with laser sight, silencer, scope, fire select and, most importantly of all, armor-piercing rounds. After all the shit they'd been through, he didn't go fucking anywhere without them. He checked both weapons out again, (he'd already done it once before after he'd familiarized himself with the material and had a bit of 'downtime' with Vanessa), and then loaded himself down with spare magazines of ammunition and a few fragmentation grenades for good measure.
His suit-check came back positive. All of his systems were fully functional, he had a topped off supply of oxygen and power, pressure and suit integrity were intact. The suit was one hundred percent and ready to go.
He was about as ready as he was going to be.
“Five minutes,” Vanessa said through his radio. The ship was starting to rumble now as it entered the atmosphere.
“Affirmative,” Greg replied.
He was at least somewhat convinced that something terrible was going to happen to them on the way down. That atmosphere looked so...corrosive. So evil. But the ship seemed to be holding up on its own without any problem. The atmosphere disturbed him for many reasons. One of them was that it was clearly a new development. If the Marines or whoever else they sent here had noticed it, (how could they miss it?), they would've reported it and it would have been forwarded to Hawkins along with the other relevant information.
So, whatever it was, it was ongoing and getting worse.
“Everyone ready?” Greg asked.
They all said they were. He had them do suit-checks and radio checks. When those came back positive, he led them out of the armory and back towards the cargo bay. The walk back was silent and the next few minutes were passed in equal quietude as they checked over the jeeps and waited for the Raptor to finish landing.
All at once, landfall was achieved and all was abruptly silent.
“We down, Martel?” Greg asked.
“...yes,” she replied.
“What's happening out there? Are there any hostiles?”
“No hostiles detected, I ran the BioScan up to a half-mile, but...you're really not going to like it out there.”
Greg sighed. “Understood.” He turned to the others. “Mount up. Let's see what we can see.”
He, Jennifer and Keron mounted up in the first jeep, Drake, Eric and Parker got into the other. The jeeps were solid, sturdy things that should be able to handle basically any terrain. They came equipped with a decent sized cargo area, a navigational database and even a BioScan device. Greg drove his jeep into position, the first one out, as the inner airlock doors opened. He drove into the airlock bay and waited for it to cycle through.
Seconds bled by, ratcheting up the tension.
As the outer doors began to open, Greg realized that Martel had been completely correct. He didn't like what he saw at all.
For several seconds, he simply sat there and stared out at the madness. The skies had come to resemble the atmosphere as witnessed from outside the planet. Thick, black clouds, shot through with fiery blood red, twisting veins covered everything from horizon to horizon. It looked much more vivid and horrifying when witnessed from the ground. In the distance, Greg spied a bloated obsidian sun hanging in the skies, outlined by a horrible red ring. The ground had turned into some brittle, dry flaky substance.
It reminded Greg uncomfortably of dead skin.
“We...we should get out there, we're holding up Drake,” Jennifer said quietly.
Greg remembered that he was in a jeep and drove forward, out of the airlock, allowing it to close and cycle the others through. The ground before him looked so brittle and sickly that part of him was convinced there was nothing underneath it. There was just a thin layer of this odd, flaky substance and then, beneath that, nothing.
A void.
But, as he brought the jeep slowly down onto the ground, it held. There was no great cracking, no sudden plummet into infinite nothingness. Behind him, he heard the faint sounds of the outer airlock door sliding closed and then the noises of it cycling. Drake and the others were in for a big surprise. Greg was still taking it all in.
There was more, he realized, as he stared off into the distance. Somehow, impossibly, once you got past the roiling black clouds and the fiery crimson lines in the skies, there were actually more disturbing things to marvel over. In the far distance, he made out the familiar shape of a mountain range. Only there was something wrong with it. It was too...sharp, somehow, and too angular, almost like it was a mountain range designed instead of naturally occurring. And designed by a madman. It was subtly horrific.
But that was only the start of it.
Far, far away, Greg spied pillars of blood-red flame jetting into the skies. His best guess was that these jets shot at least a mile straight up, and there seemed to be no end to them. He couldn't imagine the amount of energy or fuel necessary to maintain such a spectacle, and there were lots of them, easily a dozen, perhaps more.
Most disturbing of all, however, even farther back, were what appeared to be the uncertain, ponderously moving shapes. At first, he took them to be more stand-alone mountains, but he realized that they were, in fact, moving.
How big were they?
What were they?
“Holy shit,” Drake said from somewhere behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. “This is...what the fuck happened here? This is insane.”
“We're really doing this, aren't we?” Eric asked quietly as Drake rolled his jeep up next to Greg's.
“We're really doing this,” Greg confirmed.
“And if we have to deal with one of those?” Eric asked, pointing to one of the huge, mountain-sized things in the far distance.
“Well...we can pr
obably outrun them, whatever the fuck they are...probably. Fuck, I've never seen something so huge and alive. I didn't even think it was possible,” Greg replied quietly, still staring at the immense shapes in the distance.
It was then that he began to notice a smell. It was a thin smell but it was one that he recognized: death. Death was in the air on Ash.
“Maybe we should run a few more scans,” he said, tapping into the jeep's dashboard mounted computer and having it run as many scans as was available to it. He got on the comms. “Uh, Martel, could you run some more scans for me? BioScan, far as you can push it.”
“I'm on it,” she replied.
“Maybe we should call for back up,” Parker murmured quietly. Greg glanced over at her. She sat in the back of the other jeep, staring at the enigmas in the distance. “I know it's our job to handle the unknown and the impossible, but this seems like a bit much, even for us.”
“I doubt we'd get much back up,” Greg said as he waited for the scans to come back. “You heard Hawkins and you know how shitty the political climate is. They want their research...but not enough to commit more than a few assets to the mission, especially if those assets are us. We're that branch of the government that's very expensive and no one really knows what we do, and even if they do know what we do, they aren't sure whether or not we're just bullshitting them. So I doubt we'd get more than maybe an S and R ship or perhaps another troop transport of Marines. Maybe a Spec Ops unit if we were very lucky.”
“And,” Drake murmured, “whatever back up we'd likely get, I get the feeling it wouldn't shift the odds that much more in our favor. No, we need to handle this ourselves. Or, at the very least, we need to investigate the situation and see if we really should just pull out and wait for help. Can you imagine Hawkins' reaction if he found out we made it twenty feet outside the ship and then immediately got back inside and left?”
“I get the feeling that if he was seeing this, he might not blame us,” Eric replied.
“BioScan results are back,” Martel said, making Greg jump. He didn't like how on edge he was. “There's nothing, just the seven of us, but there's something dampening the BioScan. I can only get a reading up to three quarters of a mile.”