by Ben Wolf
Kriff Morrison scratched the side of his ample belly, but his body armor kept him from satisfying the itch. He tried again, then he gave up. He’d just have to deal with it, or maybe it would go away on its own.
He stood in the passageway outside the massive door leading to the mine, waiting. Bored. And they hadn’t even given him a chair.
Gerhardt had sent him to guard the mine entrance after the last round of incidents. With the sub-network acting up, they couldn’t trust the normal security protocols to function properly, he’d said, so he’d selected Kriff to stand there all night rather than letting him walk his normal rounds.
Kriff sighed. Typical brass. Always worried about something.
He checked his watch again. 0317. He yawned and wished for some coffee.
Since the mine had reopened, one worker had gone missing, and two had died, both in freak accidents. Security hadn’t confirmed whether or not the missing miner, a guy with an unmistakable mustache named Dave Frankfurt, had disappeared in the mine or if he’d simply left the premises.
Dave never clocked out for his last shift, and no one remembered seeing him leave Sector 13, so his disappearance remained a mystery. If Kriff had to guess, though, Dave was probably long gone. Definitely off-world and probably even out of the Ketarus System. There wasn’t much reason to stick around such an undeveloped system outside of this very mine.
The blue lights illuminating the passageway flickered, then they went out completely. Kriff stood there, wide-eyed in the dark. A second later, the lights sprang back to life with a heavy clank.
Technical problems, indeed. Kriff yawned again and contemplated sitting on the floor. Instead, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
That’s when he noticed blue light creeping in from around the massive mine door’s edges.
The door had opened, somehow. He stood up straight again and headed over to it.
Had it opened during the blackout? Was that what the clanking noise had been?
He tugged on the door with his fingers, and it inched farther open.
Something moved on the other side. It scraped, and a shadow broke the light.
He recoiled and drew his sidearm, a plasma repeater capable of stunning a person as well as blowing huge holes in them. The lights on the sides of the barrel glowed with orange light. He pointed it at the opening.
“Who’s there?” he called. “Come out, now. You’re trespassing.”
Nothing happened.
“You hear me? I know you’re in there. Come out, and the worst you’ll get is written up. If I have to stun you, it won’t be fun for either of us.”
Still, nothing happened.
Kriff swallowed.
“Look,” Kriff called again. “I’m just trying to earn a paycheck, same as you. No need to make this hard on both of us.”
He waited a moment—a long moment—and listened. He heard no movement, and no more shadows crossed the light that shone from between the door and its frame.
Fine. Be a jackass. I’ll give you what you deserve. Kriff exhaled a breath, gripped the edge of the heavy door, and pulled several times. He released his grip and raised his weapon again.
The door swung open slowly, revealing the mine’s main corridor.
Empty.
BANG.
He spun to his left, his plasma repeater held high.
The door had slammed against the wall to his left. Nothing more.
He inhaled and exhaled quickly at first, then he worked to slow his breathing and his thrumming heartbeat.
Kriff wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve and reached toward the open door, now stationary against the wall. He pulled it back slowly, aiming his plasma repeater at the wall behind it just in case, but he found nothing there.
Did I imagine seeing the shadow? Or the scraping?
Kriff shook his head and lowered the plasma repeater. Late nights and nerves. That’s what he’d experienced.
Something shuffled from within the mine, farther down the corridor.
He raised the plasma repeater again and pointed it into the corridor, but he saw nothing. He stepped through the door and into the corridor, his eyes scanning for movement. Still nothing.
Enough of this. He didn’t want to get caught off-guard.
He clicked the comms unit on his shoulder. “Stecker, this is Morrison. I’m in the mine corridor. Someone else is in here, but they’re being elusive. Requesting backup.”
The comms crackled, then Stecker’s voice came through. “I’m on my way with Rich. We’re having technical issues again with the sub-network, so don’t lock yourself in one of the sectors. Stay in the corridor, and you should be fine.”
Kriff nodded. “Copy that. Whoever it is, he’s in the corridor, not the mine.”
“We’re at the far end of the worker dorms, now. We’ll be there in five minutes or so.”
“Got it. You want me to wait for you?”
“Up to you,” Stecker replied.
“Alright. If I can find him in the corridor, I’ll bag him.”
“Keep us updated.”
“Yep. Over and out.”
Kriff turned back and pulled the heavy mine door shut. It clanked into the frame, and he heard its big lock clank in place. Guess the sub-network works well enough to lock it up.
Now whoever was in there would have to scan an identity card to get back out. If the guy did, then he’d log himself as having been there. Plus, the door wouldn’t open unless the intruder had a high enough clearance level to access the mine this late, so Kriff could probably pin him at the door.
Of course, if the guy had some sort of override technology that was messing with the sub-network, then closing the door might not have accomplished anything. Even so, Kriff stood between the trespasser and the door now. So the guy wasn’t getting out.
Kriff inhaled a deep breath and headed deeper into the mine corridor.
The sounds of his footsteps echoed off the walls and the high ceilings. The blue lights lining the corridor walls only shined downward, so Kriff couldn’t see how high the ceiling actually went. Not without shining a light up there, anyway.
He progressed past the various mine sectors, including Sector 6, still sealed off from the first incident with the worker named Barclay, and eventually past the grav lift and Sector 13, now also temporarily sealed off, again because of Barclay. Why the company hadn’t just fired that Barclay guy already, Kriff didn’t know.
Whatever. Not my circus.
As Kriff headed deeper into the corridor, the lights flickered again, and again, they shut off entirely. Sporadic emergency lights mounted to the corridor’s blue rock walls clicked on for a moment, then they, too, extinguished.
Kriff swore and tapped his comms. “Lights are all out in here. You guys know anything about that?”
He didn’t get a response. Not even static.
He tapped the comms again. “Hello? Hello? Stecker, Janikowski, do you read me?”
Still nothing.
Kriff swore again. He tapped a circle on the top of his plasma repeater, and a beam of orange light shined into the darkness ahead of him. The light calmed his hammering heartbeat.
Until he heard something scrape behind him.
He whirled around, ready to stun the trespasser to sleep, but he saw nothing.
A burst of red light ignited around him, and he gasped.
Then he shook his head and chided himself. Track lights, colored red to denote emergency evacuation routes, lined the corridor’s floor along both the inner metal wall to his right and the outer rock wall to his left. They gave off a third of the light compared to the overhead blue lights, but at least now he could see where he was going.
Speaking of going, I’m not sticking around here anymore. Kriff turned and started back toward the corridor entrance.
The trickle of gravel down one of the rock walls stalled his steps. He turned toward the sound and pointed his light at the area. A small cloud of dust dissipated ne
ar the rock wall, now to his right, and a tiny pile of pebbles obscured a bit of the red track lighting on the floor.
Kriff shined his light up along the wall, but it illuminated only blue rocks. He raised it all the way up to the ceiling and panned back and forth. Nothing up there.
Just loose rocks. It’s a mine. Rocks move all the time. That’s the point.
Still, it creeped him out. The red lights, the unexplained sounds, the darkness looming above him. At this point, it was better to wait for Stecker and Janikowski.
He continued toward the mine door, walking at first, but he picked up his pace. He just had to round the corridor, and then the door would be in sight. Then he could get out of there.
Unless the outage had disabled the door again. I’ll deal with that when I get there.
As he progressed, his flashlight found nothing, but his ears picked up little sounds and noises around him. He couldn’t tell if they came from his own boots, or if he was imagining it, or if it was something else. At this point, he preferred not to know.
He passed the grav lift between the sectors, continued forward, and his light found the dull, gray metal of the huge mine door. Relief eased the tension flowing through his veins.
Kriff jogged over to the door, his belly bouncing with each step. He waved his identity card at the reader, but it didn’t respond. It lacked its usual blue glow. It had no power.
He cursed himself for having shut the door. He reached for it.
Something thudded behind him, heavy. Wet.
Panic froze Kriff at first, then he whirled around with the plasma repeater in his hand. The light hit something gray, then the thing was gone.
He yelped and backed against the door with two hands on his plasma repeater.
The orange beam coming from the top of the repeater’s barrel flickered, then it went out. The orange lights on the sides of the barrels went out, too. The percentage counter on the back of the repeater flashed two zeroes.
Shit. Don’t they charge these things before handing them out? He squeezed the trigger, and it clicked, but no plasma discharged. Nothing happened at all.
Now only the red track lights illuminated the corridor.
But he’d seen something. Unquestionably. He wasn’t alone in there.
Kriff stuffed the plasma repeater back into its holster and drew his baton. He flicked his wrist, and it extended to its full length.
Purple currents of electricity spiraled up and down its shaft, but it didn’t give off much useful light. In fact, it scarred his vision with negative colors and made it harder to see, so he deactivated the currents. In the end, it was still a weighted baton, and he could still bash someone’s head in if he had to.
“Alright, you son-of-a-bitch. Show yourself, and let’s get this over with,” he muttered.
Nothing happened. He saw no movement, heard no sounds.
He squeezed the baton handle tighter and took three cautious steps forward, away from the mine door. I’m just trying to earn a paycheck. I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this.
The back of his neck prickled.
A low growl rumbled behind him.
Kriff whipped the baton around with all of his strength.
It smacked something fleshy, yet hard.
Something groaned.
Amid the red light, a dark, tall figure shuddered. It stood between Kriff and the door.
Kriff wailed and swung again. He aimed for the thing’s misshapen head, but it raised a decrepit arm, and Kriff’s baton smacked it instead. It cracked against something hard.
The thing groaned again and lurched forward. Its other arm shot straight toward him. Kriff tried to block it, but the thing’s hand struck the left side of his gut.
Brilliant pain knifed into Kriff’s stomach, and he gasped. He dropped the baton and tried to pull the arm away from his gut, but he couldn’t. The thing was too strong.
Kriff shrieked and tried to squirm away.
A fresh jolt skewered his shoulder, just under his collarbone, and he gasped again and shut his eyes. He gripped both of the thing’s arms, but instead of releasing him, it lifted him off of his feet and suspended him in the air.
He forced his eyes open and looked down at it. It had a vaguely human shape, but its skin was dark and textured like a piece of charcoal, only moist. Its face had no eyes or mouth from what he could tell, given the low light.
The thing growled at him, and Kriff could feel its arms sucking at his insides—his blood, organs, tissue—it was ripping it all out of his body.
He was dying, and he was powerless to do anything about it. That thought terrified him more than the thing tearing him apart.
A faint bit of orange light shined from his hip.
The plasma repeater. Had it come back to life?
Maybe there was hope after all.
Kriff released his grip on the arm stabbing his shoulder and grabbed the plasma repeater from his holster. He aimed it at the thing’s head, swiped his thumb to the right along the back of the grip, and set it to full blast.
The thing didn’t move, but the light illuminated its face.
Despite its deathly, gray pallor and horrific deformities, Kriff recognized it.
It was Dave Frankfurt. The missing worker. The thing had the same unmistakable mustache and a lazy eye.
Through the pain, Kriff stilled his quaking hands, and pulled the trigger.
A ball of orange energy exploded from the barrel and obliterated the thing’s head.
Wetness splattered on Kriff’s face and chest.
It dropped to its knees, lowered its arms, and Kriff slumped on top of it. He howled in pain and clutched his stomach—it hurt far worse than his shoulder.
As he lay there, he watched as the thing’s neck expunged thick, black smoke around him. He tried not to inhale it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The gas overwhelmed his nostrils and his mouth and choked his throat. It tasted like burnt rubber and death.
He dropped the plasma repeater and clawed at the floor. His fingers found a crack, and he tried to haul himself away. He managed half a pull, then the muscles in his arms gave out. They burned with weakness and strain.
Phichaloride gas. It had to be.
He gasped for fresh air and found a pocket of oxygen, but he collapsed on his side. The sensation of pain in his shoulder, stomach, and lungs intensified, then began to fade rapidly. He began to convulse and seize.
Kriff’s vision focused on the red track lights only inches from his face, then it blurred.
Then it darkened until he saw nothing at all.
18
Etya kept the science office open, even though Bartholomew Morgan had ordered that Sector 13 remain closed for the next two workdays, a Thursday and a Friday. He’d furloughed all of the entry-level workers but kept the new woman foreman and her partner, Harold Skylar, on the clock.
Bartholomew had directed Etya to research what had happened in Sector 13 from a geologic and scientific perspective. He expected a report by the end of that Saturday so he could determine whether or not the sector could reopen on Monday.
She already knew what answers she’d uncover before she even bothered to look. The mine was unstable.
That scientific fact, coupled with the ongoing, inexplicable technical problems that continued to afflict the mine’s networks, meant they needed to terminate all mining operations immediately. If Andridge intended to continue mining, they needed to relocate the entire mine to a safer environment.
The company’s initial surveyors had selected a poor location. She’d seen the scans. Yes, it was an area rich with copalion deposits, but the area’s geologic instability made extracting it far more difficult and risky than if they had taken their time with a site farther away from the deposits and worked their way over.
But the company only knew how to consume—even if it choked in the process.
At lunchtime that day, Etya sat alone, as usual. Her staff sat three tables away from her, yapping and laug
hing with each other.
She didn’t envy them. Why should she? They were idiots, deluded by their well-paying jobs and the security those jobs brought to their otherwise meaningless lives.
As Etya ruminated, Garth set his tray down on the Plastrex table and plopped down on the bench directly opposite of her. He gave her a greasy smile and ran his fingers through his equally gross blond hair.
“Afternoon, beautiful.” He winked at her.
Etya physically restrained herself from gagging. “Hello, Garth.”
He wore another white t-shirt, grungy and yellowed with age, with the logo of a decades-gone techno-rock band on the front. Tour dates and locations across the galaxy filled in the space underneath the logo.
“It’s been awhile since we’ve talked.” He sipped on his purple soft drink. “And I may have some information that you’d find interesting.”
“Do you think it is wise for you to be seen with me in public?” Etya stared at him rather than at the food on her tray. She’d lost her appetite the moment he sat down.
“I’ve taken care of the cameras and audio recorders, if that’s what you mean.”
“People can still see us, Garth.”
“I’m more than happy to take you back to my room, if you’d like.”
Etya bit back her revulsion. “That will not be necessary.”
“Your room is just as good. Better, probably, because that’s where you’ve got that red lingerie.”
“What is it you have to tell me?” Etya asked.
“So that’s a no?”
“As much as I would like to,” Etya lied, “I must return to the science office soon. Mr. Morgan is expecting a detailed report from me on whether or not it is safe to reopen mining operations in Sector 13 by Saturday evening.”
Garth nodded. “I understand. Rodney has me working on a report on the networks, too. We’ll make up the time later. Maybe tonight?”
“I am sure to be working late, Garth.”
He nodded again. “Saturday night, then. After you’ve submitted your report.”
Etya held her tongue. Garth’s persistence grated on her almost as much as his lack of hygiene. “What do you have for me?”
Garth took a bite of a sandwich he’d constructed for himself. It was easily four inches thick, loaded mostly with meats and cheeses. Ranch dressing dribbled down the sides.