Chapter Two

Sorry for the delay on this one.

Alan's name as been changed to Lana, by the way.

 CHAPTER TWO

As expected, my head was hurting something awful once I became aware that I had a head again. And when I was aware that I had a body too, that felt achey past all tolerance. I hadn't yet gained control of my voice so I couldn't make any complaints yet – which of course only increased the panic I was feeling.

I wasn't as scared of being shot in the damn head as you'd expect me to be. I was more terrified at the idea that I had somehow survived that because look, I'm not a praying guy. I have as much faith as it takes to get me through one really bad day, but I'd be more likely to pray dutifully to Batman than I would a god. The idea that a miracle had happened wasn't something I wanted to celebrate.

But it was fun to speculate that instead of this being a miracle, it was just a fluke. Death taking a holiday and all that. Or maybe it was a blank. Maybe Lana was some kind of prankster and this was her way of having a few giggles. How Jokeresque. Or should it be Harley? Whatever.

My eyes started to work again, but my voice still didn't. Seeing didn't really do me much good in this case because it was practically impossible to make anything out in the dark.

Still, this didn't look good at all. It was the opposite of good. How else can I phrase this until I understood just how un-good all of this was shaping up to be? Whatever. Let's just settle for SOL, okay? Okay.

I became aware of a few more things at once. Not only did my eyes start working but whatever senses had been blocked off, keeping me from feeling things (physically anyway), lifted immediately as I fell back against something that felt comfortably human. Hands reached out to steady me, gripping my shoulders and leaning back with the weight of me with a soft, “oof!”

“Easy does it there, soldier. You all right?”

What an annoyingly chipper voice. Also it came from a guy, which made it even more annoying. Though I guess falling into the arms of a girl would be a horrible blow to my ego.

I blinked against the darkness, and when my eyes opened again the darkness lifted to reveal –

“A space ship.”

Really, that's what it was. The giant glass ceiling overhead revealed nothing but that vast horrible emptiness of space, dotted here and there with vague flickering stars that either shone on a whole system of planets with life on it, or just endless empty rocks.

I'm not really of the opinion that space is nice, so this didn't interest me as much as the question of how the hell I got here. No one heard my astute observation of our current surroundings, thankfully. That would have been a little embarrassing.

Wait. Soldier?

“What else do you want me to call you?” The guy snarked, though he had a smile on his face. “What's your name? I don't remember seeing you back in the debriefing.”

I took a quick look at myself. I was no longer wearing my school uniform; the familiar blazer, tie, and slacks had been replaced by a far superior outfit suited for, and this is putting it gently, obliterating alien hordes in the darkest depths of some miserable galaxy. It was the exact replica of the sort of RIG you'd find in Dead Space, only it was solid black and lacked that claustrophobic looking helmet-face mask combo.

So, a soldier, huh? Whatever Lana's gun had done to me, whether it scrambled my brain or injected me with some awesome hallucinogen, I wasn't about to complain just yet. Unless the trip took a turn for the worse. Then of course I would have a fit.

A few seconds of silence passed from my appraisal of myself and the smiley guy's response, so I didn't have to worry about seeming rude or mentally deficient.

“Alex.”

Smiley guy actually gave me a nod and a small salute. “Steve. And thanks.”

Thanks?

His smile looked a little forced now that I thought about it. Weird kid. “For not spitting in my face. Most of the other guys wouldn't be too happy that I touched them.”

“Why? Do you have the Plague or something?”

Steve raised his eyebrows a little. “The what?”

Black Death. Bubonic Plague. Ravaged Europe because they wouldn't take a bath regularly. Blamed it on rats when it was really the fleas on them. Not ringing any bells?

Steve shook his head. “If you're taking about Old Earth History, that's not really my field. That's why I signed up for this.” He looked at me askance. “But hey, if you're smart enough to know that why'd you end up here?”

“You could say I was forced at gun point.”

He chuckled.

“No but seriously. Why would someone spit in your face?” It'd be nice to know if I could contract anything, or if this guy turned out to be the punching bag for some justifiable reason.

Steve's smile disappeared and he looked off to the other groups of soldiers standing some distance away. None of them were looking at us, but as most of them had those helmet-face masks on it was hard to tell just where they were looking in the first place. “There's a lot of religious guys in our squad. Actually, almost everyone here has some reason to be here that's tied back to the Church.”

If they hate you because you're not part of the flock then that's their problem. It's not like I belong to any sect either. I'd sooner pray to Batman.

“Who?” Steve shook his head. “And... yeah, let's go with that.” He had started the sentence with the intention of one thing, only to end up saying another. You don't grow up in the Stark household without being able to tell a blatant lie from a pathetic form of denial. My dad was proficient in both.

I wouldn't push the matter; it's not like it was all that important in light of the more pressing issue of why I'd need this suit and if I was a soldier, who or what would I have to kill?

“You're kidding, right?”

“Let's pretend I'm not.”

“You must've slept through the debriefing... guess that's why I didn't notice you. Anyway, our sister ship Pallas sent out a distress signal requesting immediate assistance, but has gone dead ever since.”

This was sounding familiar. At least the ship wasn't called the Ishimura.

“There's a high probability of hostile interference on Pallas, so we're going to investigate and neutralize any threats encountered.”

Did people really talk this way in these situations? It felt like I was trapped in a video game.

“You look nervous.”

“This isn't really something I do on the regular.”

Steve lifted his hand to give my shoulder a shake, but it fell fast when we were approached by one of the few people who didn't have their faces covered.

“You two done talking over here?” The woman had her dark hair pulled back in a pony tail, and her voice was more stern than her expression proved to be. She was looking between me and Steve with something close to kindness. She looked a little familiar.

“Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.”

Steve answered for the both of us, but he didn't look as abashed as I expected.

The woman nodded. “Right. You two just stick close to me.” She turned to me. “You're the new one? Well, just do as you're told and follow my lead once we land.”

Whatever you say, lady.

“Better put your helmets on, boys. It's gonna get hard to breathe in a second.” The woman flashed us a quick smiled as a helmet grew over the back of her head and the flaps of a mask closed over her face. The slits over her eyes lit up in a pale, icy blue. It was easily the coolest thing I'd ever seen.

Of course, I had no idea how the hell she had done it so I wasn't sure how I could finish suiting up properly. Luckily Steve was kind enough to do it for me. He pushed a button on the back of my hand, which triggered a series of blue lights like veins to run up my arm and over my shoulder. The little gears that set off the helmet-mask set to work and soon I was encased just like the rest of us.

It was like seeing the world in layers, like a cyborg only better because I had a soul. Each thing I looked at triggered a quick scan (life-form, non-sentient) and along the side near my left eye was a list of my vitals: heart rate, the condition of the suit, and the really ominous rate of survival based on the surroundings.

After that it was just a simple matter of following the leader, which was the woman in this case. She walked over to an escape hatch, entered the code and ushered us through into the last square room before we entered space properly. I would have been scared if I wasn't so confused. The door sealed behind us as the woman asked, “Ready?”

“Yes, ma'am,” we answered in chorus. I was a few seconds late.

The woman nodded, and opened the door ahead of us.

At once the other guys ahead of Steve and me took a step forward and flew – no, really, they flew, propelled with jets on the backs of their suits and at the bottom of their boots. All of them were headed towards another space ship not too far from us, fanning out in groups of three to latch onto different sections and find their way in. The ship looked pretty miserable: none of the lights anywhere were on. It looked like a floating dead chunk of metal, which I guess is exactly what is was. I never said I was a clever writer. Definitely not poetic, either. Don't you judge me.

“Get a move on,” the woman said and gave Steve and I a little push.

“First time in a suit?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Steve's laugh crackled in my ear. I smirked at the sound, and quickly stopped. Glad he couldn't see that. “Just a little. Want me to hold your hand?”

“Are you crazy?”

“It was a joke. Look, the suit does most of the work. All you have to do is steer.”

“How the hell do I do that?”

“Stop panicking for a start, and just push forward.”

“What am I, in labor?”

“Knock it off, you two!” The woman's voice burst across our banter. She turned in midair – mid space? – to chastise us and jerk her thumb over her shoulder. “Focus on our target, not on flirting.”

“Sorry, Sara.”

“Ma'am.”

“Ma'am. Sorry. Ma'am.”

When we reached the ship, Sara (good to know her name finally, and she really did look like Lana, only obviously older and with a kinder face) held her hands against the side and let out a blast that cleaved a hole large enough for us to slide into. This suit has laser hands too? This must be a hallucination since it basically spoke to all the fantasies of my eight-year-old self. Once we all were inside, our suits lowered to the floor, the little jets releasing a final puff of steam.

“Uh, ma'am?”

Sara turned to look at me.

“What about the gaping hole in the wall?”

Sara held up her hand. The laser-blasting hole in the center of her palm was aimed right at my face

!

I ducked, my hands flying up to stave off any blow (which is stupid, yeah, I know). Her hand let out a blast and as I turned to look behind me a strange transparent case was stretching itself across the hole she had just punched through the side of the ship.

“Primary attack is a high powered plasma blast from the right palm. Secondary fire is a casing, strong enough to withstand – well, you saw for yourself.” Her voice sounded almost smug as she explained this to me.

“Pretty sweet deal.”

“That's for the Mach Eight models only. You two have different ones. Mach 6.”

Lame. “And those do?”

Sara sighed. “Look, we don't have time to go over what you already should have learned in training. I don't know why you signed up for this if you were just going to dick around and not pay attention. If you get yourself killed, that's on your head. If you get us killed or in danger, I hope they piece me back together so I can kick your ass for negligence.”

Steve very graciously supplied an answer. “Mach Eights are designed for distant attacks, to provide back up support. Ours are focused on defense and regeneration. Mach Sixes rely more on external weapons – serrated blades and plasma rifles.”

Serrated blades? “Like chainsaws?”

“That's a layman's term for it, but yeah.”

Significantly less lame. “So where do we pick up one of those?”

Sara shook her head and walked on ahead of us, obviously out of patience. Steve quickly kept pace with her while I lagged behind. “Weapons cache,” he said, talking low. Little red text above my right eye showed that he was communicating on a private line so Sara couldn't hear. “Don't worry, I'll let you know when we see one.”

“What kind of crummy armed force doesn't even arm their soldiers?”

“Um, technically we're... not supposed to be doing this.”

What.

“It's a private operation, funded by... well I didn't ask. Didn't need to know. Anyway, we're going to use the Pallas' weapons cache for this. There's enough for us all to use.”

“So the guys in charge of shipping us out didn't care that an entire ship sent out an SOS and then went dead?”

“Seems that way, yes.”

Dicks.

“They must have had a good reason for it. You don't need to be so hostile.”

And you don't have to be so optimistic.

Sara stopped as we came to a split in the hallway. She was jabbing her fingers on a little keypad on her forearm, muttering to herself. Eventually a map appeared above her arm, a holograph that crackled now and then with interference.

“Gather round, boys. Take a look at this. It's the layers on the ship. We're on the Supplies Level, but our orders are to make it through the Residential Quarters down through the Church and to the crypt.”

“Crypt?”

“Gotta put dead bodies somewhere.”

“You don't just... I dunno, shoot them out an airlock?”

“You pay extra for that. Most people on here can't afford the luxury.” Sara punched a few more numbers into the keypad and the map appeared on my screen, slowly shifting between the layers of the ship. There were six of them. “Make sure you check your positions regularly, and if you get separated just send out a tracking signal and one of us will come find you. Got it?”

We moved on ahead down another hallway before taking a sharp right – and coming to a dead stop.

“Shit,” Sara said.

I could think of worse things to say. That didn't quite cover it.

There were scratches gouged deep into the floor, as if something had been dragged across it and wasn't quite happy with the idea. The lights overhead, the ones that were still in place, were flickering bad enough to make an epileptic weep (y'know, once their fits were done), and one of the doors to a room was sliding open and shut, open and shut again and again on what looked like a body. Or part of one.

Oh and there was blood, too. Lots of blood.

Sara didn't hesitate. She sent out a message to the rest of the guys. “This is Steele of the Apollo squad. Do you copy?”

A chorus of voices one after the other responded. “Copy that, Steele.”

“This is a direct order. Mach Sixes are the arm themselves immediately. Mach Sevens fall back and find the nearest command consoles. See if you can punch up logs or video reports from the past month. Send us whatever you find. Mach Eights are to provide support for Sixes and Sevens. Keep the med packs ready and your systems set to high sensitivity. We don't want anything sneaking up on us.”

“Ten-four ma'am.”

“Uh, Steele? Ma'am?”

“What is it, Hera Squad?”

“There's something funny about the Medical Ward.”

“Funny how?”

“Well, there's still patients here.”

“Are they responsive?”

“Not exactly.”

Sara took a breath, impatient. “Get them to respond. We need all the answers we can get. Neutralize any who get violent.”

“Roger that, ma'am. Tyr Squad out.”

“Steele out.”

Sara turned to us. “I want you two to go on ahead and head to Residential.”

“Uh, aren't you supposed to provide us with defense?”

“You've got Steve, you'll be fine.”

“I appreciate that, ma'am.”

Stupid overconfident Steve. “But isn't that against orders?” I was groping blindly for some kind of excuse, hoping to catch hold of whatever guilt she might feel. It didn't escape my attention that Lana and Sara shared a last name, by the way. I just wasn't too sure it mattered, hallucination and all. Maybe I was projecting some kind of fantasy of an older, less creepy, more human Lana into this futuristic setting. But I would hope that I would have fantasized something more pleasant than a craphole of death and gore.

Sara was having none of it, by the way. “I've got my orders and I'm giving you yours. Now do as I say.”

Steve gave Sara a salute, which meant I had to follow suit. “You can count on us, ma'am.”

After a curt nod Sara turned on her heel and darted ahead of us, turning down the left hand path without giving the corpse and those scratches along the walls a second glance.

“Guess we gotta take the right one.”

“First we need to arm ourselves,” Steve reminded me.

Stepping gingerly over the body (it didn't have legs, by the way. I don't know where they went) Steve and I entered one of the rooms and took a look around. Weapons crates were open but their contents were still there, untouched. Obviously no one could get to them in time.

“Do you want the plasma or the serrated blades?”

“Which one is the coolest?”

Steve paused. “I think I better take the blades.”

“You don't trust me around sharp things?”

“Don't really know you, buddy.”

I wasn't too worried about the plasma rifle. All guns are the same, right? Like cameras. Point and take aim, then shoot – and get the hell out of the way if you miss. Okay so it's not quite like cameras. It's better.

The serrated blades ended up being something like a mechanical crossbow, the saw blades lined up across the top. The primary attack was for the blades to extended out in a straight line and chop up whatever stood in their path. The second – “homing device for individual targets. They boomerang back once the target's been neutralized.”

No, seriously. Why didn't I get that?

“Be quiet. I think I heard something.”

Steve held out his hand and pushed me back. We had walked through the hallway down a walkway that opened up into a main cargo hold. A glass booth was ahead of us, as well as a gate that separated the hold from what looked like a waiting area. There were cushioned benches lined up along the walls and in the center of the room.

The gate, by the way, was twisted and parts of it lying in chunks around the floor. Blood had splattered against the outside of the glass booth, and the lights inside it were out completely. The door was open though. We could see a hand sticking out.

Steve took a breath. “There's something behind the gate. Did you see that?”

I didn't.

“It was on the floor, and it crawled over to the left.”

“Maybe it was a survivor.”

“Now who's being optimistic?” Steve raised his chainsaw gun (I'll keep calling it that from now on, because my god it just sounds so freaking cool) and squared his shoulders. “Stay alert, Alex. We may have to engage that thing if it ends up being hostile.”

The holes in the gate were large enough for us to climb through. We lost points on stealth though, because as we moved through it the gate shrieked and shuddered, the last of its strength giving way as it clattered to the floor.

“Oops.”

The waiting room branched off into three different paths. The signs on the walls, also scratched and do I have to say it? Bloody, indicated where each hallway went. Residential was on the left, where that thing had crawled off to. It was a relatively quiet trip down towards where the people on this ship lived, before whatever had invaded it began to munch on them. We could hear distant creaking and clatters, but each time we stopped to see if any of the sounds got closer the silence closed over us again.

“How likely is it that we're being followed?”

“Pretty likely, I'd say.” Steve was pausing at each room we walked past, pushing the buttons to unlock those that were shut and shining his light inside, taking quick scans for survivors and backing out quickly when there was nothing alive inside. There were handprints pressed along the walls, as if people had crawled to get away, and there were a few more bodies strewn around. Not all of them were adults. My stomach began to churn. Steve must have heard my labored breathing because he reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

“It's okay, Alex.”

“I really don't think it is.”

His hand stayed on my shoulder until my breathing returned to normal. It was nice to have that support even if it came from a total stranger. He wasn't that bad of a guy, I guess. I'd much rather have someone that would happily carve a path of destruction through whatever baddies were lurking ahead of us, but Steve was a decent alternative. Better company than Sara might be though I couldn't overlook those laser blasting hands. Man, those were so cool.

A loud crash echoed down the hallway from up ahead of us. Screams, panicked and high-pitched, followed in its wake. Steve sprint down the hall towards sound, his chainsaw gun (god, so cool) at the ready.

“Christ, look out!” My warning was not only a little too late, it was totally unnecessary. Something... some... thing burst out of the room to Steve's left and launched itself at him with a roar, its mouth open wide enough to rip off Steve's whole face with one chomp. It had fangs, and the rest of its teeth were long and pointy like a shark. Its hands were raised to slice, long and also pointy like needles, and its skin was blotchy with red and purple wounds or bruises. The rest of its skin was waxy, stretched tight over its bones that were visible even from where I stood.

Saw blades entered the thing's mouth, slicing off its tongue as Steve fell back on his arse and then rolled to the side, away from beast. He had it in his sites as once again he fired off a shot, this time aimed at the thing's long hands. The blade cut off several of its fingers before getting stuck in bone. Black blood splattered out of the wounds as the thing roared again in pain or fury.

I had reached Steve by this time, took aim and pulled the trigger. Its arm came off. I fired again. One of its legs came loose. One more shot, this time from Steve, took the thing's head off completely. It fell to the ground with a wet thud and stayed still.

I had to give Steve credit. He didn't linger to either throw up or spend a few minutes reflecting on how he could have been food for that landshark-vampire thing. Instead he entered the room it had came out of and immediately began calling out, “Hello? Anyone here?”

A low, wretched sob responded from the back room. Steve walked towards the sound, ducking out of sight. Couldn't let that happen, so I followed close.

He jabbed quickly at a button on the back of his hand and the suit's helmet-mask peeled back and knelt beside a hunched person. It was a man his face a smear of tears and blood.

“Stay focused, sir. Look at me. Keep your eyes right on me.”

The man let out a cruel laugh and turned to look in the direction of Steve's voice. He had no eyes. Instead there were deep scratches along the sockets, leaving behind flaps of skin. And yeah this is gross but look, I'm not poetic and I'm definitely not going to sugar coat this crap for you. So suck it up.

The angle I stood at let me get a good look at his neck. Something had bit him and took a good chunk out of the skin there. One of his hands was pressed to the wound, but it didn't look like he'd survive it long.

Steve must have noticed this too because instead of setting to work trying to find something to patch up he took the guy's hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “What's your name, sir?”

“The fuck does that matter?”

“It matters to me, sir. My name's Steve Adams. Partner here is Alex.”

“Hello,” I said, giving a little wave. I dropped my hand at once, feeling stupid.

The man coughed and spat out a wad of blood on the ground. “Mark Brighton,” he said, coughing.

Steve nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Brighton.”

“Did you get it? That... thing?”

“Yes, sir. It's lying in a puddle outside your room right now.” Steve paused, unsure if he should bother the man further.

We didn't have time to be nice, though. The guy could die in peace after he gave us some help. “Do you know what that was? Did you get a good look at it before...?”

“I'm a mechanic, not a doctor.” Mark coughed again and hunched forward with a groan. His hand fell away from his throat, this fingers bloody and the skin beneath the stains pale, almost transparent. He was fading fast. “That's not my sector. They came out of the medical ward. That's all I know.”

Medical ward. Hadn't some guy called in about patients acting funny over there?

Steve held out his free hand to silence me. “When did this start, Mr. Brighton? We got your distress call and came as soon as we could.”

“Last week, once they took that rock on board.”

“What rock?”

But Mr. Brighton didn't say anything else. He coughed once more and then collapsed face down.

Steve knelt next to him in silence before his helmet-mask closed over him again. When he stood up, he had his head bowed. Either he was praying or he finally was giving in to some freak out panic attack that I had expected him to feel much sooner than this. Squaring his shoulders again, Steve sent out a message to Sara.

“Captain Steele? Ma'am?”

Static, and then – “What is it, Steve?”

“Looks like something came on board last week, some kind of rock. Might be the cause of this.”

“Copy that. Anything else?”

“There's... things attacking the people on board, ma'am.”

Static again. “What kind of things?”

Landshark vampires? I shrugged.

“They're vaguely human, but...”

“Sounds like a mutation. Dammit.”

“You don't sound so surprised.”

“Let's just say this isn't the first time doctors have messed around with human tissue, Alex. Thanks for your report, Steve. Keep heading towards the crypt. You two holding up okay?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good. Stay sharp. Steele out.”

I could have made a joke about that statement. but I didn't have the energy. It didn't seem right, what with the dead guy at our feet. It would have been nice to hear him laugh, though. Everyone should get one good laugh in before they die.

“Ready?

“No,” I said.

“Neither am I. Let's get moving.”