by Allen Ivers
He was never controlled, never possessed or lost himself. He did not look out from some distant cage of the mind as another walked in his skin, no… it was more manipulation, of the strongest and most base kind. It made him want to serve. To speak.
To fight.
The alien had him dangling on the end of a string, teasing with orders: you must do this now or cataclysm will come. You must jump right now and your only question will be ‘how high?’ You will follow its lead for you remember what it was like to be alone, small, and empty. You were uncivilized, savage; and you were made wonderful, brought to harmony. You… you are now part of something glorious.
The very concept gave Leo chills. The hushed tones Mathers spoke with might have been confused for reverence, if he wasn’t so gleeful in his defamation and hatred. He wrestled with guilt and horrors that Leo could only imagine.
Mathers had survived on the base alone with the thing for some length of time, not certain how much. He didn’t know if there was more than one, but he was certain of one thing -- it had studied him, his memories, used them in its manipulations.
After fairly little time, it had learned all it needed to put a harness on this particular mount. Everything from childhood proverbs sung by his parents all the way down to simple colors and smells. Associations trotted out in split seconds, twisting Mathers’ emotions and impulses on the fly, emotional cues to compel responses.
It knew how to pressure him, like spurs into a flank. And he had trotted, pranced, in accordance with direction.
This was no random parasite or simple animal subsisting until it could feed and breed. No… this thing had plans and a means of executing them.
Every nightmare told Leo it was somehow inside the kid; it’s the only way they could have missed it on the ground. But the medical team confirmed it had latched onto Mather’s back, under his jumpsuit. Shreds of other clothes had been found underneath its contact point.
It had punched through whatever he had been wearing. And it knew enough to try and hide its presence under a new layer. More than a parasite -- an infiltrator.
Despite malnutrition and psychological trauma, Dr. Gamble was satisfied with Mathers’ condition, but had confined the young man until further notice, lest he have even more surprises. He had been completely cooperative, and the chattiest little man Leo had ever met.
After what he’d been through, Leo was surprised Mathers opened his mouth for fear of additional nightmares disgorging themselves from within.
An unknown contagion was loose on the Murci. No one laid blame or even muttered it in some kind of general arc. Everyone was at fault. And now everyone was at risk.
Rook tapped his foot in one corner, and all Leo could hope was that he was thinking of a drum line to a song somewhere deep in his happy place. This may have been the first time he’d ever seen Kieran not smiling. And Piotr was bordering on maddeningly silent.
Gamble was the only one keeping any kind of routine, dropping her hands under an antiseptic spray like all she’d just done was give somebody a particularly invasive physical. Nothing to see here, just washing her hands of genuine alien slime.
She had even gone so far as to scrape samples of the stuff into vials for storage in the freezer.
Leo finally broke the silence, “We have to abort the mission. We recall the Manifest team and get the hell back to Earth.”
“And bring that thing with us?!” Rook squealed, probably a half an octave higher than he intended.
Gamble rolled up the sleeves on her jacket, balling them up behind her elbows, “Gateway station will sweep the ship. We wouldn’t be putting anyone in danger.”
“Just like tenting for bugs.” The first bit of positive noise, of course it was Kieran. He was even back to smiling again. His degree of hope and optimism was bordering on the naive.
“Um…” Piotr raised his hand, channeling the perennial school boy.
“What, Cabbie? What is it?” Patience was not Gamble’s strong suit.
And Piotr wasn’t enjoying the new callsign very much. He may have been the youngest crewman in the room, but he was also the pilot – which made him responsible for persons and cargo aboard, as far as the Sponsors were concerned. He was the Bus Driver – which meant it was his bus everyone else was getting rowdy in.
And it was his Bus that had been compromised.
“Hypothetically…” Oh, Leo really liked where this was going, “What if it kills everyone and we just gave it a million and half tons of steel with the ballistic force of an asteroid?”
The silence was filled first with math, as the various people completed that apocalyptic equation at different speeds, and then finally with the mild intake of horror into everyone’s lungs. It was a long trip back for them to contend with this thing in the meantime, and if they lost, who knows what it would do with a spaceship all its own?
“We have to kill it ourselves?” Kieran slurred, like he didn’t quite stomach the feel of the words in his mouth.
“First thing’s first,” Leo blurted, stepping forward as though he might give a stirring speech to unify the troops against their common foe.
Everyone turned, eying the hippie handyman up and down. Something about their eyes made him stop in place. Judgement? Fear? Or was it hope that he might solve their problems and wake them up, tell them about the collective drug-addled hallucination they were all having, and that everything was fine?
The silence hung too long, and Gamble waved her hand, dismissing Leo, “Gateway and Earth can properly sanitize the ship. We find this thing, lock it up, and beat a path back home.”
It was a sound plan, if a bit lacking in guile and depending entirely on the goodwill of home. If Leo knew an alien beastie was being ferried express back to Earth, Leo would take the free shot and write off the loss to the insurance company. He’d seen too many movies to do something that lacked the certainty of a flamethrower.
“Can’t just go home,” Piotr said, and Leo could hear the cursing under his breath.
“What?”
“You can’t -- it’s not a straight line. We have a scheduled departure window to make a clean rendezvous with Earth — and it depends on Venus.”
Of course it did. And Leo could hear the complicated mathematical questions of the high school remedial refresher come barging in, but he stopped listening.
Piotr was right. They used Earth’s and Luna’s orbit to slingshot them to Mars in the first place, but that meant that Earth was behind them -- a slingshot off Mars would mean relativistically stopping in place and waiting for Earth to catch up. Slinging up to Venus and whipping around its orbit meant a much quicker return with less fuel spent.
Miss that window, and they’d get home months later. If they got home at all. It was simply the mechanics of this particular trip, and why they left Gateway when they did.
They simply did not have the supplies. But now — they didn’t have the option.
“How long to complete departure prep?” Someone asked, someone with authority. Leo wasn’t really paying attention.
Piotr shook his head, shrugging, “Few hours.”
“Do it,” Leo commanded, “And radio down for Locklear, let ‘em know what’s happened.”
Gamble leered at Leo, uncertain of where this ponytail grease monkey was getting the nerve, and even more uncertain if she was comfortable with it. “Alright then. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Quarantine procedures every deck. No door moves without two people to open or close it.”
The Buddy System was as old as time and still in use, even in military special sectors. But pairing up proved to be more difficult than it sounded. The corridors weren’t designed for holding hands, and were built more for individuals moving about.
Cramping up against a bulkhead while he waited for his partner, just so that Leo could open a door, was bordering on the comically uncomfortable.
But Leo had gotten himself plenty of firsthand interactions with the Starfish and wasn’t looking for additional enc
ounters. He sealed the airlock to the Murci’s bridge, venting the air in the empty compartment behind him. This thing had demonstrated perfectly functional ability in zero gravity, but the temperatures of a vacuum would dissuade any living thing from their pursuit.
He’d effectively sanitized the room. He could eat off the wall. He’d never do that, but he’d seen Kieran do it and he didn’t die.
The barrier Leo had erected was made of nothing. Who needs castle walls when there is a moat?
“Try him again,” Leo badgered, as he leered through the small porthole into the airlock. The pops and groans of the ship had been a cacophony of comfort just a day before.
Now, each creak made him wonder where the beastie was. Tucked up against a bulkhead panel, or slinking along the walls and cables. Maybe it was like an octopus and could slip through the tiniest of holes, waiting in plugs or under the bed?
Piotr clicked on his radio, and snapped off his curt call to the surface, a bunch of radio babble that had just started to bounce off Leo’s ears.
“Nothing,” Piotr snorted, stopping short of declaring Murphy’s Law in full. “They must not be on the base, or at the very least, not at the radio tower itself.”
Or worse…
“We can’t assume anything,” Leo choked out, feeling the grating of his dry throat.
“If we’re leaving,” Piotr pondered, “Then I have to start the burn in four hours.”
That early? Of course. The engines that powered the Murcielago were ten year old ion-drives that propelled the craft by stripping electrons off the ‘fuel’ and hurling the electrons out of the back of the craft. Newton’s Law says, that no matter how small the mass being thrown, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
The Ion Drives fired for a month at a time to get the proper acceleration for the Martian rendezvous. He would have to fire them so soon in order to build up the escape velocity required.
It would take nearly a day to completely exit Mars’ sphere of influence, but that would....
“We’re not leaving without them,” Leo said. Not even sure why he said it. It wasn’t as though he bore those people down there any love. Hell, he might even have a bit of ill will for Locklear.
But something pulled at the back of his neck when he thought about leaving them to die on Mars in any number of horrible ways. No one would know, no one to report on those left behind…
Piotr rolled over in his chair, his little childish head peeking out over the flared back of his command chair, “We don’t even know they’re still alive.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot we don’t know,” Leo snapped.
“Tag--” The last thing Leo wanted right now was that consoling tone.
“I need to repair the shuttle,” Leo cut him off. “Think you could prep me a suit for EVA?”
“Okay, I’ve been nothin’ but pleasant to you. What has crawled up your ass?”
Leo glared at Piotr, letting him feel the lingering burn. “This thing, more than likely, killed a couple dozen people. And we’re locked in here with it. For the next twenty four hours, I need you to take that trademark black humor of yours and lock it down. Okay?
Piotr processed the rather curt treatment. “You know whose team you’re on?”
Leo sagged, feeling the pang of instant regret. “It’s your bus, Piotr. I’m just a little wired.”
“I would be too…” Piotr said, giving Leo a quick shoulder grip. Leo felt his fingers roll through his shoulder, a slight bite from nerves tightening up.
A sprain, maybe? How had he missed that?
Piotr palmed the shoulder, jostling him in good humor. “I’ll let the others know the plan.”
“You do that,” Leo grunted, turning back toward the airlock. He half-expected to see that starfish there on the glass, sheer limbs gripping and pulling, leaving spittle and slime in its wake.
No such frightening visage; just an empty hallway. Beckoning.
Why didn’t it attack the first responders on the ground?
“What?” Piotr asked.
Leo shook his head. He’d somehow managed to say that out loud, “Locklear and the gang. They found this thing, and it didn’t attack them. Why?”
“Maybe it did. That laser thing had to belong to somebody.”
“So what, it just surrenders when they catch it?”
“Maybe?” Piotr’s eyebrows dance on his forehead, as though the hard drive in there was whirring, “Maybe it knew they weren’t a threat? I mean, Mathers said it seemed smart.”
“Nearly half a dozen heavily armed and twitchy folk in space suits aren’t a threat? No...”
Piotr shrugged. “Outgunned. Five to one odds ain’t exactly in its favor. Why?” Piotr could see Leo’s eyes darting about. “What are you thinkin’?”
“You get in a car for two reasons, Piotr. You’re going to a thing, or away from a thing.”
Chapter 9
Mars
The Rover’s engine made a very odd noise. It scraped metal on metal, but there was a different sound, like a squealing pig loose in the barn. Or a small child far away. Tired. In pain.
He had no idea if this was normal for the extraterrestrial monster truck, but every nerve in his left temple cried out in objection.
They had been in the Rover for over an hour, trucking out to the archaeological site. Manifest was a large base and needed a relatively stable and flat piece of ground in which to lay out its foundations, but the dig site that precipitated the entire Manifest mission was deep in a canyon network, cut out of the walls by ancient and long absent rivers.
It was a winding and bumpy ride through to the site, and Locklear thought his ass was going to fall off, it was so numb. Or maybe it had and this just was what that felt like.
The Rover itself was built for this kind of terrain, but hardly for comfort. A six-axle vehicle, one for each tire, allowed for strong torque and control over even the steepest surfaces, and didn’t toss the vehicle when it came to difficult roads. Instead, the lack of proper suspension and the robust powertrain vibrated the entire chassis at a frequency designed to cause comical nausea.
It sat six, but not comfortably, as this whole piece of delicious engineering was still built by the lowest bidder some thirty years ago. Four tonnes of metric kickass being hauled by an electric motor that could barely get the thing rolling to thirty kilometers an hour, and it screamed when doing that, straining to deliver on its factory promises.
It whined and moaned and bitched every step of the way. Nothing broken, it was just very talkative.
Locklear wanted to stop the car just to remember what silence was.
The arduous road combined with the tortoise pace gave a person a lot of time to think. Not the greatest thing for Locklear to have right about now.
Jericho reached up to the bulkhead above the center console, pulling out a small canister the size of a water bottle. It glowed a faint yellow, like flax or wheat left to rot in the field.
Shaking his head, he reached into a duffel bag, pulling free a fresh canister -- emerald, deep green. It was like the lab coats color-coded these things just for stupid people, trying to idiot proof life and death technology. Suppose it was better to do that than count on people to actually follow their training.
Locklear would’ve stuck the thing back in upside down if there wasn’t a big pretty arrow painted on one side.
The oxygen recycler worked on a hyper-efficient algae that took UV light and CO2 to produce breathable air. As long as the air wasn’t evacuated and there was a power source for the light, the recycler could run forever, but the canisters weren’t magic.
The algae had a relatively short lifespan, and when they died, shit out of luck. They also didn’t have the best shelf-life, couple of weeks. But they could be farmed up pretty quickly.
Unfortunately, recycled air also tasted like a bog at midday after something died on the back of the tongue, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Bits of the algae that died made their way through th
e filters and into the air. The Murci was equipped with a more efficient one, or at least someone had hung some peppermint in front of the fan to keep them all from compulsively gagging.
With Romanov gone sky-side, it was down to just Locklear, Jazmin, Amelia, and Jericho in the Rover. If he’d had his way, Locklear would’ve left half the team behind to keep peace at the base, but with Manifest a ghost town -- and being so shorthanded -- there wasn’t a plausible reason to split the team further. Now they would venture into the lion’s mouth together.
He made a silent promise to bring them all back out again.
“There it is,” Amelia whispered.
Locklear shook the focus back into his eyes, and peered through the dusty windscreen.
The canyon walls bent open, like someone had peeled them apart, the slack jaw of an old, dead titan. The steep sandstone walls still hung high overhead, but finally, an uninterrupted view of the sky, stars just beginning to peek through the dull blue curtain.
One of those might have been Earth.
Sunlight kissed against one high wall, dancing across the tips of the rock. It must be close to sunset, and the temperature outside would be falling to levels that even their suits wouldn’t be able to help them with.
The base itself was sparse, with several modules dotting one side of the canyon, like someone had tossed a collection of toasters out of their car on the freeway. Some were caved in, entire modules torn open, and burn scarring cast with the unmistakable randomness of a firefight.
And the second colony Rover parked amongst the chaos. It would have been in frequent use, dragging the modules out here one by one and dropping them in place like mobile homes.
Parked -- funny way of describing it. The Rover was tipped onto its side with a vile black carbon scar in its back quarter panel. One wheel melted straight to slag.
“What the hell happened here?” Jazmin croaked out.
Two points of conflict: by the first Rover, as the vehicle itself and several nearby rocks had been charred black on their near side. Someone used them for cover, and found that to be painfully ineffective. The second, was actually further up the canyon, battering the rocks around the base of…