Samoylova picked up the other explosives they had stashed in the Workshops after evacuating Propulsion Four. She walked through the Gates quickly and without worry. She hurt, but that pain – emotional and physical – deadened her fear. Or maybe acceptance had.
She quickly scattered the tools that they had used and wiped the memory of the 3dprinter. No clues would remain to alert Pazuzu (or any surviving crew) about what she was carrying. She had to assume that she was alone now. Because even if someone returned she knew they wouldn’t last.
“TURING,” she asked, “have you reestablished contact with the other team?”
“I’m afraid not,” TURING said.
That was dismaying news to be sure. But she still held some hope that Stocky would return. It was much harder to seriously injure him, and even Pazuzu’s monster wasn’t as likely to sneak up on him. (Although even he was suffering from sleep deprivation and so not as alert as he should be.)
She went to the trauma center in Command Gate. She pulled a small ice gel pack from the freezer there and wrapped it in a hand towel. She gently cleaned her face with water which ran down the drain in swirls of red. She took her time, letting the towel cool and trying to psyche herself up for possible pain.
She grabbed gauze and tape from the cabinets and assembled a moustache dressing. Then she clenched her teeth while she placed the gaze firmly, but gently, against the bottom of her nose, and then taped it in place. There was a moment of sharp pain but it passed quickly to her fortune.
Fixing her crooked nose would have to wait, and it likely didn’t matter. All she could do now was keep the swelling down and get ready for the next fight. And it would come soon – while she was alone.
She saw a sad sight in the mirror. Her face was puffing up, dried blood covered the front of her shirt, and Moussa’s blood was streaked on the sleeves of her jacket. The great bags under her eyes from fatigue were the most disturbing part. It wasn’t safe to sleep. Like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, it was tantamount to suicide. She patted her face with the cold towel to keep the swelling down, and hopefully it would numb the nerves. She soon bent over and cried. What do you want from me, God?
She soon recovered and wiped her eyes. Then she gathered her weapons and took the lift up to the Bridge, patting the cold towel against her face. All the consoles were up and the multitude of alarms bathed the room in a red tint. The track on the Navplotter indicated that all the Propulsion Gates were still running, and they were making good progress on the outbound. If she could just get the full Sci-Med analysis and then launch…
“TURING, Moussa is dead. I need you to grant me emergency command privileges.”
“The concurrence of an Officer is required for that, or verification that all Officers are incapacitated,” TURING said. “I’m attempting to contact Captain Holly.”
“Where is she? Have you acquired any means of ascertaining whether she is alive?” She wiped tears from her face, remembering that Holly had a copy of Sci-Med’s final research documentation.
TURING was silent for a few seconds and then spoke again. “I’m unable to reach Captain Holly. I’m granting you emergency command privileges.”
She sat down near the plotter. “Thank you.”
“It’s imperative that we warn others about the threat we’ve found.”
“I will. Do you have any suggestions for obtaining Sci-Med’s information?”
“No. It might be that the material samples and the earlier report summaries will have to be enough. But you are safe here for now. You should wait and see if one of them returns with the additional information.”
“If I launched in the Piloting Module now, is it possible for me to hack into Sci-Med’s computers and obtain the data.”
“It is not.”
“But if I were to send a probe through the emergency patient transfer system, I would be able to access the internal wireless system.”
“It still wouldn’t be possible. Patterson destroyed those systems before evacuating Sci-Med. We must wait. I’ll notify you once I re-establish contact with one of them.”
“Alright, I’m sorry to ask you about assisted suicide, but what can I do to prevent Pazuzu from repurposing you?”
“That’s quite alright. I have created a procedure for shutting down and reformatting all storage drives. I will also unlock the core and server rooms for you. I can instruct you on where to place your explosives for maximum effectiveness.”
She took a deep sigh and left the bridge to go to the core.
----------------------------------------
Holly cried while curled up in the fetal position near the door. The tears which had pooled over her visor indicated that she had been at it for some time. Slowly, anger began to evict some of her sorrow. She pounded her fist on the deck and it felt good. Then she did it again and again, letting the rage build within her. “God, why have you left me all alone?”
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“I’m still with you, Keisha,” TURING answered.
“TURING,” she whispered. “It’s over, isn’t it?” She wanted to hear “yes” even if it wasn’t true.
“There’s more. You’re safe for now. Come to Command. Time is of the essence.”
She answered the computer with a curt, mocking laugh. “What can we do now?”
“Complete our assignment. Honor those we loved.”
She got up to her knees. What “assignment” did TURING expect her to complete? It certainly wasn’t towing the derelict back to Zeta-Reticuli. No, it wanted her to fly the data and sterilized material samples out to the FTL probe and then die. She reached up and pulled off her helmet. With tired movements, she wiped her eyes. She could see well again.
She looked back at the badly damaged door to Propulsion Two. James and Patterson had died. Maybe now all her crew. In time, TURING too would ‘die’ as the last functioning fusion reactors burned out.
She got to her feet, wincing from sharp pains within her right lower leg. She hurt all over but especially there, and she was beginning to believe she had suffered a fracture. She turned towards the other end of the walkway and mentally prepared herself for the pain. “I’m coming.”
“Samoylova has gone ahead of you and will meet you in the accessway.”
She picked up her flamethrower. The pilot flame had gone out and she checked the fuel gauge. Empty. She took it anyways, together with her helmet. Maybe she could bluff with it until she got to one of the arms lockers in Habitation. One wasn’t far. She needed to obtain pain killers from a first aid kit too.
She walked through the accessway, holding her weapon as though it were ready. The stimulants were wearing off and she was beginning to feel sleepy. That was probably helping with the pain though not by much.
It was a short walk to the arms locker. She retrieved two 9mm pistols and fired a shot from each to be sure they worked. Satisfied, she stuffed extra magazines in her cargo pockets and dropped the flamethrower.
She put one of the pistols in a side pouch of her backpack, arranging it so that it was hidden and yet she could pull it out quickly. She kept the other in her hand with the safety off. Eventually, Samoylova would turn, and she would be ready for that. And she would be ready for any other Pazuzu-creatures still roaming the ship. She cleaned her visor with a gun cloth from the maintenance shelf and then donned her helmet.
Feeling better protected, she walked down the halls on the lower deck toward Berthing. The copious blood splattering the floor and halls and the piles of mangled flesh from creatures who used to be her crew almost made her vomit. People she loved. The area had a powerful stench already.
She first went to Officers Berthing, and she pulled the First Aid kit off the wall and ransacked it for painkillers. She popped more pills than she knew she should and then tossed the remaining contents out into the hallway. Then she opened one of the drawers by her bunk and hurriedly stashed a few family photographs and her personal tablet in her backpack. Sacrificing her life was one thing. She always knew space was dangerous. But she would hold on to her closest memories for as long as possible. And she hoped those memories would provide her with a way of determining if she was losing her own mind to Pazuzu.
She acquired memorable items from her fellow officers after her own. And then she crossed over to the Crews Berthing and did the same, setting her pistol on the bunks while she rummaged. She grabbed Moussa’s bible, a Western style belt buckle from Samoylova, and photographs from nearly everyone. James hadn’t arrived with many personal effects except for a small sachet. And there was nothing in there except a thin lock of auburn hair. She tucked it away anyways, after scribbling “James” on it.
I’ll remember all of you. If she could only keep one promise for the remainder of her life it would be that.
She heard a voice out in the hall. “Oh Keisha, I’m glad to see you. Where are the rest?”
She knew the voice right away – De Silva. She turned with a panicked jerk, wincing from pain caused by putting weight on her injured leg, and then stared at him mouth agape. And she could swear her heart stopped beating. Even angels don’t return from the dead.
He looked at her silently for a moment and then asked, “What happened? Everything is in alarm, most of the comms stations don’t work…I tried contacting you so many times. And then I heard the gunshots and investigated.” His eyebrows dipped with seriousness. “Don’t look at me like I’m a ghost.”
She wanted it to be true. But Pazuzu would play a trick like this. It lived to hurt them. “Maybe you are.” She noticed the pulserifle he carried and grabbed her pistol on the bunk.
His eyes grew wide with concern. He rested his rifle against the doorway and slowly raised his hands. “Take it easy. I know you’re scared; I’m scared. There’s still a fight on this ship but it’s not between us.”
“They told me it took you.”
“Yeah. A monstrous thing struck me in the shoulder. The pain was unlike anything I’ve felt. I passed out. I’d wake up again in pain and pass out again. And it was nigh impossible to move, and then it dragged me in Systems Access.” He motioned toward her leg. “It looks like it got you too.”
She glanced down at the tear in her suit (one of many in fact) and then looked back in his eyes. She studied his eyes. They were the same as they’ve always been. That same authoritative presence, strong as steel, even if he was certainly now tired and scared. “Then maybe we should both keep an eye on each other.”
His eyes showed the pain that caused him and then he slowly nodded. “Alright. We can work with that.”
She nodded in agreement. Some of the tension had relaxed now that he had set aside his weapon. A good sign, but not enough. “I have to make sure. You know why?”
“I’m guessing you’re commanding the Nineveh now. I agree that it’s your responsibility.”
“Are you married?”
“My wife is Isabella De Silva. Her maiden name was Hernandez, but I don’t think you ever knew that. We have three kids.”
“Why did you hire me?”
“You were plenty smart for our work. And what you lacked in experience and aptitude you made up for with drive. And the other officers liked you.”
She released the tears from her eyes and sat down on a bunk. “Everything’s gone bad, Captain. I tried to keep things together.”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” he interrupted. “Every death here is on me. You’re good at your job. All of my crew were good at their jobs. We just had no business coming here. And that’s my failure.”
She nodded affirmatively but looked down at the deck while tears dripped on her visor. She could have spoke up, but never did.
“Do you know who’s left?”
She studied the scuffs on the polished floor. “Samoylova is. Maybe Moussa. The rest are dead.”
“And the Creature?”
“It’s dead too.” She looked him in the eyes, feeling the anger again. “Blown into space, and I hope it suffered before it expired. But I think Pazuzu is making more of them. Patterson’s theory was that Pazuzu is an assembler of some kind.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay. Then I think we should join the rest of the crew. Then we can investigate what we still must face.”
She nodded but caution surged again in her mind. Pazuzu would want that too – because it would provide access into Command. Still, it was the only thing they could do. She passed a glance at his rifle to let him know it was okay to take it. It really did seem like him. And it felt like he had to be true. After all the bad, something good was bound to happen.
And truth be told, it just felt better than being alone.