by Joshua James
“I don’t know… are you seeing this?” Oren stood over what was the frozen twisted carcass of several of the Shapeless, melded together. But none of them even knew what that was.
Four arms and five legs stuck out in unnatural directions from a central mass of frozen flesh and bone. There were three faces, mouths too big, screaming out in pain, forever frozen in horror. Everything else was just a mash of random body parts and organs.
“What in the hell…?” LeFleur leaned in closer to the video and squinted, as if that would make what she was seeing more understandable, but she couldn’t comprehend it. No one in that operations room could.
Ben had seen one of the Oblivion aliens change shapes when the bombing had happened on the train, but he’d never seen anything like this. These must be the aliens in something approaching their natural form.
LeFleur noticed that Ben was staring blankly past the video feed at nothing. “Mr. Saito.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know what we’re looking at here?”
Everyone in the operations room looked Ben at the same time. They awaited his answer. He tried his best to come up with a reply, a truthful reply. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?” LeFleur asked. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, I mean, I heard of…apparently the Oblivion cult, they believe in saviors from the stars that will unite humanity. But that’s it. Dunno anything about them, not really. I don’t know where they come from or what they really want.” That was mostly true. Ben held back some of his own personal experience, and that of Ace and Morgan. But if this was what the creatures really looked like, what they knew of the aliens was woefully inadequate.
“Holy hell,” Ace said.
“You gotta be shitting me,” Morgan added under her breath.
With their covert operations experience, they likely knew more of the facts of the Oblivion cult and their alien saviors than Ben did, but he doubted any of them had seen anything like this. They’d all come across the mention of the great “saviors.” They knew they weren’t just tall tales used to make the Oblivion belief systems more colorful, as many assumed, but it was still a shock to see the aliens.
LeFleur wasn’t convinced. “Saviors?”
“That’s what they call them.” Ben felt something that he hadn’t had since being on the Perseverance. With the discovery of these ‘savior’ creatures and his father’s mayday message, he had some leverage. At the very least, LeFleur needed him alive.
“There’s something else here, ma’am,” Oren said, somehow tearing his attention away from the grotesque creature in front of him. What caught his attention was one of the bodies floating around in the sick bay.
“Is that…?” LeFleur looked at the arm patch on the corpse Oren had focused on. It was of a rocket ship bisecting a circle. On one side, stars from space; on the other, the stars of the Allied Independent Colonies.
“It’s one of ours, ma’am,” confirmed Oren.
“How is this possible?” asked LeFleur, to no one in particular.
Ben looked around as LeFleur and her officers discussed how an AIC soldier could’ve been among the dead in the wreckage of the Atlas. None of them agreed on the circumstance in which that was possible. That, combined with the attack on Magellan 5 and the AIC fighters out in the debris field, painted a confusing picture.
Ben suspected that for all her bravado, LeFleur would have to talk to her superiors back on Vassar-1.
This is my chance, my opening.
“I think I can help you find the Atlas,” offered Ben.
“What?” LeFleur asked.
“I think I know how to find my dad.”
Eleven
Jaime Washburn, mayor of Sanctuary Station 33, hadn’t died in the initial attack. But he wished he had. God, did he wish he was dead.
Funny; as a dying man for so long, Washburn somewhat feared the end. He’d accepted the fact that he’d be jettisoned out into the cosmos to float for eternity in the cold silent darkness, but he was in no hurry.
Not anymore. Now, the end couldn’t come fast enough.
Washburn was kept prisoner, but there were no cell bars. The room he was being kept in, once a supply closet, had its door ripped off. His guards were alien to him, some of the Shapeless who’d butchered the populace of his Sanctuary Station. A slow death from illness, eating him from the inside out, would be better than being savaged by one of those creatures.
“I’m bored, baby. You want to play a game?” Washburn’s virtual holographic girlfriend, Anna, sat next to him on the floor. She was full of enthusiasm, blissfully unaware of the horrible reality of the situation. Washburn should probably just pause her or turn her off, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be alone with his thoughts.
When Washburn coughed, blood splattered on his cupped hand. His forced roommates and fellow prisoners noticed, but didn’t comfort him. They didn’t tell him it’d be okay or even think about getting him help. All of them, down to the man, were too busy being terrified of their own potential fates to care about his.
“You don’t sound so good. Do you want me to call the doctor for you, baby? Maybe some chicken noodle soup from Pat’s Deli or Dominic’s? Or I can order you some medication through the network. Just say the word and we’ll get you feeling right and ready!” Anna smiled at Washburn. She was beautiful, but all Washburn saw was a woman sitting on the other side of Anna’s semi-transparent holographic image. The woman had a massive head wound, fresh and caked blood covering her face. He couldn’t tell if she had just passed out, or was dead.
How many days? How long have I been here? How long until the lack of meds does me in? Can’t come soon enough.
Everything hurt. From the injuries Washburn had suffered from the initial attack on the observation deck to the ravages of his unchecked illness, the mayor was in serious pain. Each joint was swollen and ached. His head was a little cloudy from an unrelenting headache. One of his arms was broken, along with a couple of ribs.
“There is comfort in the dark. Warmth away from light…” Washburn heard singing in the hallway outside the supply closet cell. It was disturbingly joyous. Considering the situation and conditions, joy should’ve been nonexistent.
“Who’s that?” asked Anna.
A bald woman’s head poked out from the other side of the supply closet doorway. She looked young: maybe, in another life, beautiful. There was blood splatter on her face, and dark circles under her light blue eyes. Upon making eye contact, she smiled at Washburn, who coughed in return.
The bald woman entered the supply closet prison. She was dressed in raggedly all-black garb, and Washburn realized she was an Oblivion cultist. She casually walked over to him, swaying back and forth as she kept singing.
“Peace and love, acceptance in the Abyss. Come, find comfort in the dark, warmth away from the light, join the Abyss!” The woman stopped singing as soon as she was face to face with Washburn, only a couple of inches separating them.
“Baby? Who is this woman? Have you been seeing other people?” inquired Anna. The ones and zeroes of her programming turned her into the jealous girlfriend. It was a playful setting that Washburn had left on in another life and couldn’t remember how to change anymore.
“Why hello, Mr. Mayor. Good morning!” said the woman brightly. There was craziness in her eyes, that shine of psychosis that was always foreboding.
“Get bent,” replied Washburn.
The woman laughed. She laughed so hard it obviously hurt her throat, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Quite the opposite, Mr. Mayor. This…this is the waiting room for paradise. But lucky you, your wait is over. Are you ready for heaven?”
“I’m ready to not ever have to talk to you again.”
“Not much of a conversationalist, huh? That’s okay.” The woman held out her open hand. There was blood caked under her nails, her palm stained and dirty.
Do it. Let’s get this over with.
Washburn grabbed the woman by her hand. She struggled a little bit, but managed to pull him up to his feet.
“Where are we going?” asked Anna as she glitched out for a second, then reappeared next to Washburn.
“Good. Now, let’s go.” The woman smiled and led Washburn towards the supply closet’s exit.
What the hell are you? Washburn couldn’t help but stare at the Shapeless at the entrance. Nothing about it was recognizable. What he saw was an undulating mass of flesh and teeth that defied any known categorization.
Washburn was led through halls he, of course, knew well. He was on the administrative level of the station. It was where he had his office, and where other high-ranking officials on site conducted their business. Plain walls on one side and wall-length windows on the other, it was always quiet. Even now, during the horrors on the station, it was quiet.
“Look at it. Do you see it?” asked the woman. She stopped, head turned towards the windows.
“See what?” asked Washburn in his weakening voice.
The woman pointed at the gigantic sphere of churning liquid metal outside Sanctuary Station 33. It spewed out smaller ships, some of them mimics of UEF or AIC fighters, and others completely foreign forms seemingly made up on the fly.
“Isn’t it beautiful? Do you know what it is, Mr. Mayor?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re eager to tell me.”
“It’s the future. Our future. Humanity’s future. And the future is brilliant, it’s…” The woman started to cry.
This woman is out of her damn mind.
Washburn decided to make a run for it. He spun around, jerking free of the woman, only to find one of the Shapeless following right behind them.
The thing reached out and touched his shoulder.
Twelve
Washburn fell back as pain more intense than he’d ever felt in his life washed over him. Every muscle in his body spasmed. He was sure he’d pissed himself.
“Please don’t do that,” the woman said, standing over him, holding her hand out to help him up. He didn’t even remember falling down.
He climbed up on unsteady legs.
“I hope I’m not boring you with all this,” she said, as if nothing had happened. “I’m sorry, it’s just so…perfect. Everything is just so perfect, and I’m excited for you. Really, I am. And a little jealous, if I’m being honest.” The woman continued on down the hall, holding Washburn by his hand, dragging him along with her.
His HUD glitched, and for a moment he thought he heard Anna, but then she was gone. His internal electronics were fried, and he was alone in his mind.
This is it. Steel yourself, man.
Washburn could hear his father’s voice in his head. He’d served four tours in the wars around his home colony, back before they’d submitted to AIC control. When the war finally came to their doorstep and the AIC invaded, his father had told eight-year-old Wash and his younger brother one thing before he’d walked out of their lives forever: If you’re ever captured, don’t give them what they want. Keep the fear hidden deep inside. Meet your maker with dry eyes.
Things got grimmer the further the woman led Washburn through the halls of his station.
The remnants of the massacre became more visible. Blood and body matter splattered the walls and carpets as Washburn and his crazed escort approached the communications room on the station’s administrative level. He saw body parts and dead bodies left to rot in their mangled states. At one point he stepped on an actual eyeball, which made him swallow down bile in his mouth.
Washburn’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest, it beat so hard. But on the outside, he kept it together. It was important to him to die with dignity. Not for his long-dead old man and his notions of manly strength, but because he’d made the promise to himself the day he was diagnosed with the cancer that was eating him alive.
Standing on both sides of the hallway was a ghoulish scene. Washburn and the woman passed rows of scared station residents shaking, crying, and praying to their gods. Some wet themselves; others were crumpled down into the fetal position asking for their mommies, despite being grown adults.
Standing across from the terrified station residents were Shapeless, one for every person. Each of the aliens did their best to mimic their scared captives. Their bodies formed into mirror images; not with smooth transitions, but they transformed nonetheless. They parroted every word, prayer, and cry that the humans made. The corpses of the people who must’ve served their purposes or hadn’t cooperated piled up against the walls, producing an ungodly smell.
Washburn was surprised when he entered the communication room. He was convinced he was being led into an execution chamber, but found the space not only relatively clean, but also free of Shapeless. But there were scared staff that he knew well, manning the different stations and consoles.
“What is this?” asked Washburn.
The woman smiled and left Washburn in the Sanctuary Station 33 communications room. She practically skipped away, leaving him standing awkwardly in the room and sniffling and crying. He didn’t move; he was too busy trying to process what he saw and what was happening.
“Mayor Washburn,” said a deep voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
Washburn turned.
Standing there at the entrance to the communication rooms was Captain Lee Saito.
Thirteen
Washburn couldn’t believe his eyes. He figured that almost everyone was killed during the massacre on his station. There was no reason to believe that anybody survived, much less the man who’d brought this nightmare to the station.
“I wish I could say that you look well,” said Saito with an easy smile. Washburn noticed how immaculate the UEF captain looked. His hair was perfectly trimmed, as was his distinctive mustache. There wasn’t a scratch on him, and it looked like he’d just taken a shower and gotten dressed in freshly-cleaned clothes.
“Captain Saito…?” Washburn still couldn’t believe it. Seeing Saito just added to his confusion. Part of him wondered, Is this all real? Maybe I’m already dead, or dying. If so, is this hell? And why am I greeted by Saito, of all people, upon entering hell?
“No, I assure you, this is real. And you’re not dead yet, my friend.” Saito’s smile didn’t leave his face. “No one really dies, not anymore.
“Now, I know you are in a pretty narrow, is that right? Narrow spot? Or wide spot? Or…help me out here, Mr. Mayor. Your language, it’s new to me. So many sayings, it’s very confusing.”
“A tight spot,” answered a bewildered Washburn.
“That’s right, a tight spot. Thank you. I realize you’re in a tight spot. This is your station, right? You govern this place?”
“You know I do. We’ve met, remember? Not too long ago. We took your ship in, gave your men food, shelter.” Washburn was confused. The answer was obvious, but his vision was less than clear.
The human mind can only take so much, Wash thought. When confronted, assaulted by those things far beyond its understanding, it could shut down. He must be reaching that point. This couldn’t really be happening.
“Sorry.” Saito’s expression didn’t change; he just kept smiling. It was unsettling. “I have some…blank spots in my memory. I know I’ll eventually be able to fill them, but this process, it takes time.”
“What process?” Wash said, but he figured he already knew. He’d seen the evidence of this everywhere. This wasn’t Saito. This was one of them.
“Anyway, let’s move on to why you’re here. I need your help, Mr. Mayor.”
“My help? With what?” Suddenly it was as if all the horror around Washburn was washed away. Everything, briefly, felt normal.
“Directions. You see, I’m not, what’s the word I’m looking for? I’m not, uh…”
“Familiar?”
“Yes! Thank you!” Saito pointed at his head. “Blank spots, remember? I’m not familiar with this part of space. Where exactly are we, where your station is?”
; “We’re on the edge of AIC space. Section 432, to be exact. Why?” Washburn was about to find sanctuary in conversation, but it was broken by the sounds of someone screaming just outside the communication room, then loud screeching. Just like that, he was back in the nightmare.
“And how would we get to the capitol planet? What’s it called again?”
“Vassar-1.” As Washburn answered, he felt a new presence in the communications room. He saw two people, what looked like people, enter, but it was fairly clear to him that they weren’t normal. Their bodies herked and jerked violently; their legs wobbled. It was as if they were walking for the first time.
“How do we get to Vassar-1 from here?” That smile, that unnerving smile, it appeared to get wider. It didn’t falter, even as he talked.
“I dunno, look in the nav systems. It’s not that hard. Why do you wanna know how to get to Vassar-1?” Washburn asked.
“Nothing for you to worry about. Nothing at all. Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Mayor. You can go—oh wait, the codes, what are the codes to access the station’s system?”
“Zero, five, x-ray, alpha, nine.”
“Thank you. You can go.” Saito turned from Washburn. He walked over to one of the staff members sitting in front of the navigation console. Like the rest, they didn’t move, not until Saito put his hand on their shoulder and whispered instructions. The crew member let out a blood-curdling screech, then turned on their monitor and got to work.
“Ooookay.” Washburn backed away. He was about to turn to leave the communications room when he backed up into something large, solid.
“One last thing, Mr. Mayor. Just in case we need you going forward.” Saito looked up from the staff member whom he’d instructed to look up Vassar-1 in the navigation system.
Washburn felt something prick his neck; then he felt the sudden rush of blood filling his mouth. It was hard, no, impossible to breathe and to swallow. Blood spilled out from between his lips and he felt the very life start to rapidly leave his body.