Rithwraith
TMF Novice
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EDIT: Crap, forgot to put the M/F thing on the title. It will be M/F eventually, but not quite yet.
Greetings. This story is an experimental attempt to juxtapose horror with tickling. A somewhat paradoxical partnership perhaps, but you never know.
At present there is no tickling to speak of in this story. It also contains bits which are extremely grisly, so be warned.
Part 2 to follow, if it’s wanted.
You’re all about to die
By Richard Paul
The Terra-eye Astrophysics Guild today launched their 37th deep space survey vessel from the Ganymede shipyards. The ship, christened the TAGSS Europa, by Guild Chairwoman Sylvia Bancroft, is to spend the next three years trailing and studying the recently discovered ‘Tieschowitz’ comet as it passes within five light years of the solar system. We here at T.I.N wish them a safe and productive journey.
- From Terran Imperial News broadcast – Tuesday, January 4th 2192.
Chapter 1
Friday, June 17th 2193 – One and a half years into the mission
Having lost a bet to Francesca the previous evening, I found myself serving as an Engineer’s mate on what was supposed to be my morning off. In retrospect, I should have known that Central Europe would lose to Scandinavia in the world cup quarter final. Maybe part of me did know; who knows?
“Pass me the screwdriver.” Her voice said from within a maintenance hatch running under an engine coolant module. All that could be seen of her was her legs.
“Philips or flathead?”
“Flathead.” She replied, “There’s about fifty screws on this damned hatch.”
Good, I thought, the longer she’s fiddling about with them, the less she’ll be pestering me for tools.
“Incoming.” I said half-heartedly as I slid the screwdriver down the length of the hatch. I heard some quiet banging on metal for a few moments afterwards before, finally;
“Thanks.”
“S’alright.” I said, moving back to the wall and slouching downwards.
The maintenance deck was a far cry from the well maintained, grey tiled rooms of C-deck that I worked in. Here, toolboxes and random spillage stains lay unattended on the discoloured deck plating. Angry noises kept sounding from the myriad pipes and valves, which in turn also looked discoloured and defiled. All in all, the entire deck looked like it was a month away from exploding. Not an encouraging thought considering that the ship’s reactor core was on this deck.
Then again, what did I know? I was a chef, not an engineer. Truth be told I wasn’t even sure what Francesca was doing down here. The sum total of my duties involved handing her things and, if I’m honest, mentally undressing her protruding legs and feet.
“What’s on the lunch menu?” She asked at one point, causing me to snatch my gaze away from her boots with guilty haste. I knew there was about ten cubic feet of metal blocking me from her gaze, and yet I still felt a healthy voyeuristic twitchiness. I shook the feeling aside and tried to recall the weekly schedule.
“Curry, I think. Or it might be fajitas. One of the two.”
“Here’s hoping for fajitas. The last time you made curry you gave ten people diarrhoea.”
“That wasn’t our fault!” I said, a little louder than intended but I think the cavernous deck’s echo effect is partly to blame, “Well, ok, it was Goldman’s fault, the bloke from B-shift. He used twice the number of chillies that the recipe called for.”
“Why?”
“He claims he was trying to quote, create a korma with testes, unquote.”
“You know, if taken literally…”
“Yes, I know.”
She laughed, I sniggered. I’m the sniggering sort.
A few more minutes passed in which the only sounds were the miniature ‘tink’ of screws tapping against the metal of the deck and the thrum of the reactor. I leaned back, put my hands behind my head and almost managed to get comfortable.
“Can you pass me the Flow-monitor?” Francesca soon asked, despoiling my respite.
“The what?”
She sighed elaborately.
“The two-pronged grey thing.”
“Right.”
There was a distinct lack of two-pronged grey things on the equipment trolley. I said as much.
“Oh for Christ’s sake.” She said, sighing again, “It’s by the fire extinguisher on the wall, clear as bloody day.”
As I walked to fetch the item, which on reflection I remembered seeing at least three times since the start of my makeshift ‘shift’, I contemplated whether or not I’d be justified in holding down Francesca’s ankles, slipping off her boots and…
“Come on, whilst we’re young.”
As I was saying…
“You do see it, don’t you?”
That’s it, I was fully justified, damn whatever punches to the ribs might follow. She’d just see it as me avenging myself, wouldn’t she? It wouldn’t be anything serious.
“Yes, I see it.” I shouted back. I grabbed the damn tool and slid it up the chute. Then, as she busied herself with whatever the hell it was she was doing, I crept down slowly next to her legs, reached out a hand towards her well worn leather boots and…
“ATTENTION ALL A-SHIFT PERSONNEL!” Boomed the First Officer over the intercom, startling me so much that I almost fell onto Francesca’s legs, “REPORT TO YOUR DUTY STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. SURVEY TEAM GAMMA HAS DETECTED LIFE-SIGNS WITHIN THE COMET’S INTERIOR. THE SHIP IS NOW AT LEVEL 2 READINESS STATUS. REPEAT, ALL A-SHIFT PERSONNEL ARE TO REPORT TO DUTY STATIONS.”
I was initially too irritated at the interruption to register what had just been said, beyond ‘all hands to duty stations’, that is. It took Francesca to point it out for me.
“Did he just say ‘life-signs’” she asked, crawling out from under the chute. Her long orange hair was now speckled with blacks bits of God knows what from the innards of the chute.
“I think she might have.” I said, standing up with rather conspicuous speed.
“This has gotta be some kind of mistake.” She added, “Still, duty calls. Don’t think this let’s you off our wager Mike, you owe me another three hours of maintenance duty.
Couldn’t I just pay my debt with dinner? Or a 3 hour long foot rub? I wanted to say but didn’t. Truth be told I don’t think I would have gone through with that sneak tickle either. Such is the way of me.
Anyway, duty did indeed call, I nodded noncommittally, waved goodbye and sauntered towards the kitchen.
Now I know what you’re thinking, under what circumstances could the kitchen staff possibly be required in a situation such as this? Well, the truth is you just never know. An emergency might arise in which the fate of the ship might depend on me and my colleagues preparing a dish of salad and rolls; or perhaps the stewards would need to ferry vital coffee to the bridge, It could happen!
No, in truth we simply had to report to duty stations for the sake of consistency.
Chapter 2
None of us made any great hurry of changing into our uniforms or getting to the galley, a fact which did not go unnoticed by our insane boss.
“Michael, what are you playing at?!” The A-shift’s Head chef, a Mr. Frederick Timmons, screamed with exaggerated outrage as I stepped yawning into the kitchen. “This is a critical situation lad; we can’t let crew members wander in late for their shifts.”
To emphasise the point, he swatted me thrice upon the arse with a spatula. This is to be expected from Mr. Timmons, he is a frighteningly eccentric man who takes some rather audacious liberties with physical contact; but he’s impossible to dislike because he’s such a friendly and easy going sort, (when he’s not feigning fury that is.)
“Set to you tardy ruffian.” He bellowed, “The kettle awaits, coffee for me, tea for Eliza.”
“At once sire.” I said, bowing as much as the cramped galley would allow. I was only spared further disciplining by the chance arrival of Tina, who after a similar ‘lecture’ on lateness, was assigned to go fetch a box of chocolate hoops from storage unit alpha.
We busied ourselves with hot beverages and short snacks for a while, then Tina finally said it for all of us.
“So, life signs is it?”
I made my trademark ‘pfft’ sound.
“Someone’s probably found some abnormal geological, abnormal foolery and talked it up to break the ceaseless monotony of this tub.”
“Got me out of bed.” Eliza added, she looked vengeful, as she often does when deprived of cigarettes. “I am not happy.”
“Oh lighten up you cantankerous ninnies.” Timmons said in his booming voice, making us all jump. “Michael my lad, run back to your quarters and fetch a deck of cards. We’ve time enough for a few rounds of something before we start the lunch menu.”
“Okay.” I said, feeling an odd compulsion to bow again, which I managed to resist. I attribute this compulsion to a lack of sleep.
With all hands at duty stations for an overblown ‘situation’, the corridors were largely deserted. Anyone who did see a chef outside the galley would probably assume that they was heading back to their quarters to fetch a wayward potato masher that they’d inadvertently taken home last night, if they chose to assume anything at all that is.
My quarters were much the same as I’d left them. Undersized and littered with discarded socks and T-shirts. I’d been meaning to haul them down to the laundry room but I just couldn’t make myself. The comparative temptations of sleep or staring disinterestedly at the ceiling were just too much to resist.
I found my cards underneath my copy of ‘The Prince’ and made my way back.
‘Daln’rai’
Eh? What was that?
‘Daln’rai’
It was the strangest thing. That was what I heard, I’m not sure where from. It was like this whispered voice from right behind me. I looked behind me, just to be sure, and found nothing except the wall.
It’s not unusual for people to hear things aboard the Europa. Just beyond the bulkheads lie all manner of creaking pipes and devices and whatnot that seem to whisper the strangest things. I decided that this was the same thing and went back to the galley.
A few rounds of poker started up, in which I lost fifteen Sollars. I’m piss useless at cards but that never stops me from rolling up again and again to lose yet more hard earned money to my workmates.
We were just about to pack it in and get started on lunch, when we heard the announcement.
“Attention all hands, this is Captain Hikaru.” The Captain’s voice sounded distant to say the least. Something far more interesting than an intercom broadcast was holding her interest. “The survey team reports that they have discovered a human body in apparent cryo-suspension. We don’t know who, or what it is, or how it got there, but I’m told they’re wearing a navy uniform. We are bringing the… the person onboard. All crewmembers are required to remain at their duty stations until further notice.”
Eliza’s mouth fell open, and the toothpick substituting a cigarette fell free and onto the table. Tina simply stared dumbfounded at the intercom speakers, willing them to divulge farther information. Mr. Timmons seemed to be doing the same thing, only with the bowl of peanuts in the centre of the table rather than the speakers.
My first reaction was to check an overhead chronometer to make sure it wasn’t April 1st. Turns out it was June 17th. Not an overt prank then, but it was a prank nonetheless. Humans, as a rule, did not reside beneath the surface of comets. Especially uncharted, unexplored ones whose existence has only been known for two years.
“What. The. Fuck.” Tina said for us all. I could do little more than stare at the pair of threes I’d accumulated and wait for the world to start making sense again.
“It’s a joke.” Eliza chimed in, “It’s gotta be. Some senior staff twit saw some crappy horror B-movie, got an idea and talked the Captain into it to liven up the place.”
Half hearted murmurs of assent answered her. It was the only explanation that made sense after all, unless…
“Unless there was some classified military operation involving this comet that went wrong.”
They all stared at me.
“Maybe?” I added meekly.
“No,” Eliza said, “If this rock had some kind of military value than they’d never let a civilian science vessel get near it.”
“And besides,” Tina added, “There’s no way anyone could still be alive on that thing after all this time. I mean, he’d have had to have been there for years, right?”
“Enough of this.” Mr. Timmons said, sounding uncharacteristically serious, “Now personally I’m inclined to agree with the ‘crappy B-movie joke’ theory. The best way we can find out for sure though is to do our jobs, get lunch sorted and mercilessly question everyone we serve.” He grinned, a trace of his standard good humour reasserting itself, “Wheedle the truth from your shipmates my children. I expect a key piece of Intel from all of you by 1600 hours.”
We set to and made lunch, as it so happens, it wound up being lasagne. The only cheese they give us is a kind of rubbery plastic thing so the meal ultimately looked like, well, a well cooked rubbery plastic thing with mincemeat filling.
Chapter 3
Lunch was cold by the time the first crewmembers came our way, and they were all off-duty Engineers and logistics officers, as well as James the barber. None of them knew much of anything, but the medical staff had been sealed away in the infirmary for well over five hours now, and guards were posted on the entire medical deck.
This was weird. Nevertheless, there were mundane and sensible explanations to all of life’s peculiar mysteries and this one would prove to be no exception, I had no doubt.
At some point, Francesca walked in, I made sure it was me who served her.
“Hi,” she said, sounding understandably distant.
“Hey,” I returned, “What the fuck is going on?”
She sneered, the entire crew had probably been asking each other the same question over and over again.
“You think I know? I’m just a junior grade maintenance engineer.”
Compared to ship’s cook, any role can seem pretty important by comparison, despite the undeniable necessity of steady meals. That said though, Francesca was as far down the proverbial ladder as myself really.
I cut her off a chilled slice of rubbery food and plonked it on her plate.
“Ok then,” I said, “What do you think is happening?”
“Nothing.” She said, “Nothing at all is happening. The bridge crew are trying to make life less tedious for the rest of us with this little game and they’re making a rather silly job of it.”
I nodded, I didn’t really agree but for some reason I always seemed to act like I did when talking to Francesca.
As she turned and headed for a table, I hurriedly tried to think of some ways I could snag a five minute break so that I might… go and discuss the possibilities of this situation with her some more. Before I could though, the intercom kicked in again.
“SECURITY TEAM TO INFIRMARY! REPEAT, SECURITY TEAM TO INFIRMARY! ALL OTHER PERSONNEL ARE TO ABANDON THE MEDICAL DECK IMMEDIATELY.”
One off duty security woman who had been poking disinterestedly at her lunch with a fork, immediately sprung to her feet and flew out the door. Incongruity had just left the metaphorical building; a summons of that urgency would never be a hoax.
The rest of us were left to nervously utter our ‘what the fucks’ and so on with an added twinge of nervousness.
With no evident explanation, the engines cut out. That never happened; the ship needed to maintain constant velocity to keep within range of the comet. The only time we were supposed to stop is when we returned to the Ganymede dry-dock.
The next thing we knew, the lights cut out, replaced soon after by the feeble emergency lighting.
An hour then passed.
Chapter 4
As you may have already noted, I’m a wuss. Therefore, you can readily imagine that when things started getting strange and creepy, I crouched behind the counter and clutched a soup spoon close to my ribs. All the while keeping one leg bent in a seemingly casual poise and flicking my head between the more vocal members of our bemused menagerie so as to appear less frightened.
After thirty minutes we had heard no updates, nor anything else from the bridge. Two people went outside to investigate, one was an Ivan Sapkowski, a geologist. The other was a short blonde woman whom I only knew by face. After another thirty minutes, neither of them had returned.
“Goldman? You there.” Tina said into the wall mounted com unit… again, “Goldman? This is the mess hall. Can you hear me?”
Silence answered her. Either Goldman wasn’t in his quarters, was asleep, or something else. None of the B-shift staff had paid us a visit since the day’s peculiar activities started. None of them were answering their comms either. Nor for that matter was the bridge, the engineering decks or the research labs.
“We should return to our duty stations,” Francesca said for what was probably the tenth time, “All of us. Something is clearly wrong with this ship and we’re doing no good huddled together in here.”
“If we were still needed at our posts then we’d be recalled there.” Mr. Timmons added, “Now it’s as you say my dear, something is wrong, and that something is an unknown and potentially dangerous factor in this situation. Until we know just what the hell is going on, we should stick together.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Someone else, a man in an engineer’s uniform said, “What do you think? That vampires have boarded the ship? We’re suffering from a technical malfunction or two, one that’s probably knocked out the com system. Come on Francesca, let’s go lend a hand.”
They both stood up, I felt my spine go cold.
Don’t go out there. I screamed silently in my head. At the time it sounded pretty ridiculous which is why I didn’t say it aloud. All the same, the ship felt wrong now. The systems were shutting down one at a time, the rest of the decks seemed to be deserted. I couldn’t let Francesca, or anyone, go out into that.
But at the same time, I wasn’t going to stop them.
Does that make sense?
The next thing anyone heard was a scream. Female; from outside the entrance hatch which, as a rule, is always left open.
I stood up, somewhat to my surprise I’ll admit. We all clustered together in the centre of the room and stared at the hatch. None of us dared to breath for a second.
Footsteps, loud and close together, someone was sprinting on the metal deck, there was also a strange kind of scratching noise which sounded utterly unfamiliar.
“Help me!” The voice screamed again, and a second later, the woman in question appeared around the corner in the corridor, ten or so meters from us.
I recognised her too, a black haired crewmember. Seeing her running for her life though made her look completely alien, her terror stricken face was utterly wrong.
Rightfully, I shouldn’t be able to remember what I saw next. My brain should have blocked it out, should have reduced me to a gibbering vegetable to protect itself from the full horrific agony of the spectacle. One thing you must understand though is that He never lets you forget His ministrations. Every torment goes remembered.
The creature darted round the corner like an over excited dog, almost skidding on the deck. It was Dr. Beatrice Cooper, or at least it was her head, attached somehow to a spidery arrangement of limbs. Three arms, three legs, all adorned with bloody tatters of surgical attire. It was grinning as it chased down its prey, and seemed to slow its pace so that she might get to where we could all see her.
We all screamed, some of us darted behind whatever cover we could find, others made for the hatch and tried to slam it shut. I was in the former category. I searched around desperately for the largest knife I could find, my clumsy fingers managing little except to bruise themselves on the counters.
The woman made it through the hatch, seconds before the creature leapt on her back, knocking her to the floor. It was snarling as best in could with Dr. Cooper’s voice, making noises like a hungry animal. Each utterance it made caused me to cram my hands tighter over my ears.
It was then that I stood up; I didn’t mean to, nor did I mean to open my eyes or throw the knife I’d found away. Something was making me do these things, it was also making everyone else in the room do the exact same thing, apart from the poor nameless woman who was trying with no success to fend of the limbs poking at her.
When we were all suitably assembled, the creature poked effortlessly through the woman’s gut and started yanking out organs like handfuls of mud. The screams scaled of terror became howls of pain, and then gurgles, and then they were replaced by the wet sounds of ripped human tissue.
I could smell the open carcass, the spilt blood and the voided bowels; and pinned as I was, I couldn’t even open my mouth to vomit.
To be Continued.
Greetings. This story is an experimental attempt to juxtapose horror with tickling. A somewhat paradoxical partnership perhaps, but you never know.
At present there is no tickling to speak of in this story. It also contains bits which are extremely grisly, so be warned.
Part 2 to follow, if it’s wanted.
You’re all about to die
By Richard Paul
The Terra-eye Astrophysics Guild today launched their 37th deep space survey vessel from the Ganymede shipyards. The ship, christened the TAGSS Europa, by Guild Chairwoman Sylvia Bancroft, is to spend the next three years trailing and studying the recently discovered ‘Tieschowitz’ comet as it passes within five light years of the solar system. We here at T.I.N wish them a safe and productive journey.
- From Terran Imperial News broadcast – Tuesday, January 4th 2192.
Chapter 1
Friday, June 17th 2193 – One and a half years into the mission
Having lost a bet to Francesca the previous evening, I found myself serving as an Engineer’s mate on what was supposed to be my morning off. In retrospect, I should have known that Central Europe would lose to Scandinavia in the world cup quarter final. Maybe part of me did know; who knows?
“Pass me the screwdriver.” Her voice said from within a maintenance hatch running under an engine coolant module. All that could be seen of her was her legs.
“Philips or flathead?”
“Flathead.” She replied, “There’s about fifty screws on this damned hatch.”
Good, I thought, the longer she’s fiddling about with them, the less she’ll be pestering me for tools.
“Incoming.” I said half-heartedly as I slid the screwdriver down the length of the hatch. I heard some quiet banging on metal for a few moments afterwards before, finally;
“Thanks.”
“S’alright.” I said, moving back to the wall and slouching downwards.
The maintenance deck was a far cry from the well maintained, grey tiled rooms of C-deck that I worked in. Here, toolboxes and random spillage stains lay unattended on the discoloured deck plating. Angry noises kept sounding from the myriad pipes and valves, which in turn also looked discoloured and defiled. All in all, the entire deck looked like it was a month away from exploding. Not an encouraging thought considering that the ship’s reactor core was on this deck.
Then again, what did I know? I was a chef, not an engineer. Truth be told I wasn’t even sure what Francesca was doing down here. The sum total of my duties involved handing her things and, if I’m honest, mentally undressing her protruding legs and feet.
“What’s on the lunch menu?” She asked at one point, causing me to snatch my gaze away from her boots with guilty haste. I knew there was about ten cubic feet of metal blocking me from her gaze, and yet I still felt a healthy voyeuristic twitchiness. I shook the feeling aside and tried to recall the weekly schedule.
“Curry, I think. Or it might be fajitas. One of the two.”
“Here’s hoping for fajitas. The last time you made curry you gave ten people diarrhoea.”
“That wasn’t our fault!” I said, a little louder than intended but I think the cavernous deck’s echo effect is partly to blame, “Well, ok, it was Goldman’s fault, the bloke from B-shift. He used twice the number of chillies that the recipe called for.”
“Why?”
“He claims he was trying to quote, create a korma with testes, unquote.”
“You know, if taken literally…”
“Yes, I know.”
She laughed, I sniggered. I’m the sniggering sort.
A few more minutes passed in which the only sounds were the miniature ‘tink’ of screws tapping against the metal of the deck and the thrum of the reactor. I leaned back, put my hands behind my head and almost managed to get comfortable.
“Can you pass me the Flow-monitor?” Francesca soon asked, despoiling my respite.
“The what?”
She sighed elaborately.
“The two-pronged grey thing.”
“Right.”
There was a distinct lack of two-pronged grey things on the equipment trolley. I said as much.
“Oh for Christ’s sake.” She said, sighing again, “It’s by the fire extinguisher on the wall, clear as bloody day.”
As I walked to fetch the item, which on reflection I remembered seeing at least three times since the start of my makeshift ‘shift’, I contemplated whether or not I’d be justified in holding down Francesca’s ankles, slipping off her boots and…
“Come on, whilst we’re young.”
As I was saying…
“You do see it, don’t you?”
That’s it, I was fully justified, damn whatever punches to the ribs might follow. She’d just see it as me avenging myself, wouldn’t she? It wouldn’t be anything serious.
“Yes, I see it.” I shouted back. I grabbed the damn tool and slid it up the chute. Then, as she busied herself with whatever the hell it was she was doing, I crept down slowly next to her legs, reached out a hand towards her well worn leather boots and…
“ATTENTION ALL A-SHIFT PERSONNEL!” Boomed the First Officer over the intercom, startling me so much that I almost fell onto Francesca’s legs, “REPORT TO YOUR DUTY STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. SURVEY TEAM GAMMA HAS DETECTED LIFE-SIGNS WITHIN THE COMET’S INTERIOR. THE SHIP IS NOW AT LEVEL 2 READINESS STATUS. REPEAT, ALL A-SHIFT PERSONNEL ARE TO REPORT TO DUTY STATIONS.”
I was initially too irritated at the interruption to register what had just been said, beyond ‘all hands to duty stations’, that is. It took Francesca to point it out for me.
“Did he just say ‘life-signs’” she asked, crawling out from under the chute. Her long orange hair was now speckled with blacks bits of God knows what from the innards of the chute.
“I think she might have.” I said, standing up with rather conspicuous speed.
“This has gotta be some kind of mistake.” She added, “Still, duty calls. Don’t think this let’s you off our wager Mike, you owe me another three hours of maintenance duty.
Couldn’t I just pay my debt with dinner? Or a 3 hour long foot rub? I wanted to say but didn’t. Truth be told I don’t think I would have gone through with that sneak tickle either. Such is the way of me.
Anyway, duty did indeed call, I nodded noncommittally, waved goodbye and sauntered towards the kitchen.
Now I know what you’re thinking, under what circumstances could the kitchen staff possibly be required in a situation such as this? Well, the truth is you just never know. An emergency might arise in which the fate of the ship might depend on me and my colleagues preparing a dish of salad and rolls; or perhaps the stewards would need to ferry vital coffee to the bridge, It could happen!
No, in truth we simply had to report to duty stations for the sake of consistency.
Chapter 2
None of us made any great hurry of changing into our uniforms or getting to the galley, a fact which did not go unnoticed by our insane boss.
“Michael, what are you playing at?!” The A-shift’s Head chef, a Mr. Frederick Timmons, screamed with exaggerated outrage as I stepped yawning into the kitchen. “This is a critical situation lad; we can’t let crew members wander in late for their shifts.”
To emphasise the point, he swatted me thrice upon the arse with a spatula. This is to be expected from Mr. Timmons, he is a frighteningly eccentric man who takes some rather audacious liberties with physical contact; but he’s impossible to dislike because he’s such a friendly and easy going sort, (when he’s not feigning fury that is.)
“Set to you tardy ruffian.” He bellowed, “The kettle awaits, coffee for me, tea for Eliza.”
“At once sire.” I said, bowing as much as the cramped galley would allow. I was only spared further disciplining by the chance arrival of Tina, who after a similar ‘lecture’ on lateness, was assigned to go fetch a box of chocolate hoops from storage unit alpha.
We busied ourselves with hot beverages and short snacks for a while, then Tina finally said it for all of us.
“So, life signs is it?”
I made my trademark ‘pfft’ sound.
“Someone’s probably found some abnormal geological, abnormal foolery and talked it up to break the ceaseless monotony of this tub.”
“Got me out of bed.” Eliza added, she looked vengeful, as she often does when deprived of cigarettes. “I am not happy.”
“Oh lighten up you cantankerous ninnies.” Timmons said in his booming voice, making us all jump. “Michael my lad, run back to your quarters and fetch a deck of cards. We’ve time enough for a few rounds of something before we start the lunch menu.”
“Okay.” I said, feeling an odd compulsion to bow again, which I managed to resist. I attribute this compulsion to a lack of sleep.
With all hands at duty stations for an overblown ‘situation’, the corridors were largely deserted. Anyone who did see a chef outside the galley would probably assume that they was heading back to their quarters to fetch a wayward potato masher that they’d inadvertently taken home last night, if they chose to assume anything at all that is.
My quarters were much the same as I’d left them. Undersized and littered with discarded socks and T-shirts. I’d been meaning to haul them down to the laundry room but I just couldn’t make myself. The comparative temptations of sleep or staring disinterestedly at the ceiling were just too much to resist.
I found my cards underneath my copy of ‘The Prince’ and made my way back.
‘Daln’rai’
Eh? What was that?
‘Daln’rai’
It was the strangest thing. That was what I heard, I’m not sure where from. It was like this whispered voice from right behind me. I looked behind me, just to be sure, and found nothing except the wall.
It’s not unusual for people to hear things aboard the Europa. Just beyond the bulkheads lie all manner of creaking pipes and devices and whatnot that seem to whisper the strangest things. I decided that this was the same thing and went back to the galley.
A few rounds of poker started up, in which I lost fifteen Sollars. I’m piss useless at cards but that never stops me from rolling up again and again to lose yet more hard earned money to my workmates.
We were just about to pack it in and get started on lunch, when we heard the announcement.
“Attention all hands, this is Captain Hikaru.” The Captain’s voice sounded distant to say the least. Something far more interesting than an intercom broadcast was holding her interest. “The survey team reports that they have discovered a human body in apparent cryo-suspension. We don’t know who, or what it is, or how it got there, but I’m told they’re wearing a navy uniform. We are bringing the… the person onboard. All crewmembers are required to remain at their duty stations until further notice.”
Eliza’s mouth fell open, and the toothpick substituting a cigarette fell free and onto the table. Tina simply stared dumbfounded at the intercom speakers, willing them to divulge farther information. Mr. Timmons seemed to be doing the same thing, only with the bowl of peanuts in the centre of the table rather than the speakers.
My first reaction was to check an overhead chronometer to make sure it wasn’t April 1st. Turns out it was June 17th. Not an overt prank then, but it was a prank nonetheless. Humans, as a rule, did not reside beneath the surface of comets. Especially uncharted, unexplored ones whose existence has only been known for two years.
“What. The. Fuck.” Tina said for us all. I could do little more than stare at the pair of threes I’d accumulated and wait for the world to start making sense again.
“It’s a joke.” Eliza chimed in, “It’s gotta be. Some senior staff twit saw some crappy horror B-movie, got an idea and talked the Captain into it to liven up the place.”
Half hearted murmurs of assent answered her. It was the only explanation that made sense after all, unless…
“Unless there was some classified military operation involving this comet that went wrong.”
They all stared at me.
“Maybe?” I added meekly.
“No,” Eliza said, “If this rock had some kind of military value than they’d never let a civilian science vessel get near it.”
“And besides,” Tina added, “There’s no way anyone could still be alive on that thing after all this time. I mean, he’d have had to have been there for years, right?”
“Enough of this.” Mr. Timmons said, sounding uncharacteristically serious, “Now personally I’m inclined to agree with the ‘crappy B-movie joke’ theory. The best way we can find out for sure though is to do our jobs, get lunch sorted and mercilessly question everyone we serve.” He grinned, a trace of his standard good humour reasserting itself, “Wheedle the truth from your shipmates my children. I expect a key piece of Intel from all of you by 1600 hours.”
We set to and made lunch, as it so happens, it wound up being lasagne. The only cheese they give us is a kind of rubbery plastic thing so the meal ultimately looked like, well, a well cooked rubbery plastic thing with mincemeat filling.
Chapter 3
Lunch was cold by the time the first crewmembers came our way, and they were all off-duty Engineers and logistics officers, as well as James the barber. None of them knew much of anything, but the medical staff had been sealed away in the infirmary for well over five hours now, and guards were posted on the entire medical deck.
This was weird. Nevertheless, there were mundane and sensible explanations to all of life’s peculiar mysteries and this one would prove to be no exception, I had no doubt.
At some point, Francesca walked in, I made sure it was me who served her.
“Hi,” she said, sounding understandably distant.
“Hey,” I returned, “What the fuck is going on?”
She sneered, the entire crew had probably been asking each other the same question over and over again.
“You think I know? I’m just a junior grade maintenance engineer.”
Compared to ship’s cook, any role can seem pretty important by comparison, despite the undeniable necessity of steady meals. That said though, Francesca was as far down the proverbial ladder as myself really.
I cut her off a chilled slice of rubbery food and plonked it on her plate.
“Ok then,” I said, “What do you think is happening?”
“Nothing.” She said, “Nothing at all is happening. The bridge crew are trying to make life less tedious for the rest of us with this little game and they’re making a rather silly job of it.”
I nodded, I didn’t really agree but for some reason I always seemed to act like I did when talking to Francesca.
As she turned and headed for a table, I hurriedly tried to think of some ways I could snag a five minute break so that I might… go and discuss the possibilities of this situation with her some more. Before I could though, the intercom kicked in again.
“SECURITY TEAM TO INFIRMARY! REPEAT, SECURITY TEAM TO INFIRMARY! ALL OTHER PERSONNEL ARE TO ABANDON THE MEDICAL DECK IMMEDIATELY.”
One off duty security woman who had been poking disinterestedly at her lunch with a fork, immediately sprung to her feet and flew out the door. Incongruity had just left the metaphorical building; a summons of that urgency would never be a hoax.
The rest of us were left to nervously utter our ‘what the fucks’ and so on with an added twinge of nervousness.
With no evident explanation, the engines cut out. That never happened; the ship needed to maintain constant velocity to keep within range of the comet. The only time we were supposed to stop is when we returned to the Ganymede dry-dock.
The next thing we knew, the lights cut out, replaced soon after by the feeble emergency lighting.
An hour then passed.
Chapter 4
As you may have already noted, I’m a wuss. Therefore, you can readily imagine that when things started getting strange and creepy, I crouched behind the counter and clutched a soup spoon close to my ribs. All the while keeping one leg bent in a seemingly casual poise and flicking my head between the more vocal members of our bemused menagerie so as to appear less frightened.
After thirty minutes we had heard no updates, nor anything else from the bridge. Two people went outside to investigate, one was an Ivan Sapkowski, a geologist. The other was a short blonde woman whom I only knew by face. After another thirty minutes, neither of them had returned.
“Goldman? You there.” Tina said into the wall mounted com unit… again, “Goldman? This is the mess hall. Can you hear me?”
Silence answered her. Either Goldman wasn’t in his quarters, was asleep, or something else. None of the B-shift staff had paid us a visit since the day’s peculiar activities started. None of them were answering their comms either. Nor for that matter was the bridge, the engineering decks or the research labs.
“We should return to our duty stations,” Francesca said for what was probably the tenth time, “All of us. Something is clearly wrong with this ship and we’re doing no good huddled together in here.”
“If we were still needed at our posts then we’d be recalled there.” Mr. Timmons added, “Now it’s as you say my dear, something is wrong, and that something is an unknown and potentially dangerous factor in this situation. Until we know just what the hell is going on, we should stick together.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Someone else, a man in an engineer’s uniform said, “What do you think? That vampires have boarded the ship? We’re suffering from a technical malfunction or two, one that’s probably knocked out the com system. Come on Francesca, let’s go lend a hand.”
They both stood up, I felt my spine go cold.
Don’t go out there. I screamed silently in my head. At the time it sounded pretty ridiculous which is why I didn’t say it aloud. All the same, the ship felt wrong now. The systems were shutting down one at a time, the rest of the decks seemed to be deserted. I couldn’t let Francesca, or anyone, go out into that.
But at the same time, I wasn’t going to stop them.
Does that make sense?
The next thing anyone heard was a scream. Female; from outside the entrance hatch which, as a rule, is always left open.
I stood up, somewhat to my surprise I’ll admit. We all clustered together in the centre of the room and stared at the hatch. None of us dared to breath for a second.
Footsteps, loud and close together, someone was sprinting on the metal deck, there was also a strange kind of scratching noise which sounded utterly unfamiliar.
“Help me!” The voice screamed again, and a second later, the woman in question appeared around the corner in the corridor, ten or so meters from us.
I recognised her too, a black haired crewmember. Seeing her running for her life though made her look completely alien, her terror stricken face was utterly wrong.
Rightfully, I shouldn’t be able to remember what I saw next. My brain should have blocked it out, should have reduced me to a gibbering vegetable to protect itself from the full horrific agony of the spectacle. One thing you must understand though is that He never lets you forget His ministrations. Every torment goes remembered.
The creature darted round the corner like an over excited dog, almost skidding on the deck. It was Dr. Beatrice Cooper, or at least it was her head, attached somehow to a spidery arrangement of limbs. Three arms, three legs, all adorned with bloody tatters of surgical attire. It was grinning as it chased down its prey, and seemed to slow its pace so that she might get to where we could all see her.
We all screamed, some of us darted behind whatever cover we could find, others made for the hatch and tried to slam it shut. I was in the former category. I searched around desperately for the largest knife I could find, my clumsy fingers managing little except to bruise themselves on the counters.
The woman made it through the hatch, seconds before the creature leapt on her back, knocking her to the floor. It was snarling as best in could with Dr. Cooper’s voice, making noises like a hungry animal. Each utterance it made caused me to cram my hands tighter over my ears.
It was then that I stood up; I didn’t mean to, nor did I mean to open my eyes or throw the knife I’d found away. Something was making me do these things, it was also making everyone else in the room do the exact same thing, apart from the poor nameless woman who was trying with no success to fend of the limbs poking at her.
When we were all suitably assembled, the creature poked effortlessly through the woman’s gut and started yanking out organs like handfuls of mud. The screams scaled of terror became howls of pain, and then gurgles, and then they were replaced by the wet sounds of ripped human tissue.
I could smell the open carcass, the spilt blood and the voided bowels; and pinned as I was, I couldn’t even open my mouth to vomit.
To be Continued.
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