Story 7
In one swift motion the thin metallic blade shot deftly through the titanium casing, cleaving the thick hull as it tore through the inner wires and tension cables, scaring the reinforced truss system as it cut deeper into the torso. The edge ripped through the outer membrane where it severed the main negative terminal from the battery, coming to rest precariously between the tattered leads of the cable, acting as a short shunting the high current through its steel surface as it laid between the superconducting tendrils.
Reacting in an innate survival tactic, she jammed the prongs up against her opponents chestplate and having depressed the trigger, sent hundreds of amps through the magnets and rails, accelerating the tungsten pellet down the path until it flew from the terminus and exploded through the titanium plate sending splinters in every direction as it ripped through the internal structures, embedding in the center of the battery. Almost instantly the casing ruptured as the intense blue fireball grew, shredding everything inside the metal hull of the torso. The explosion was contained within, only sending a sharp ray of plasma out of the hole. Her leg shot up and pounded the opponents chest, knocking both bodies apart as the other’s body splintered under the immense surge. As her opponent ripped apart on his trajectory, she maneuvered to land hard on her elbows and legs, so as to minimize the stress on the protruding sword stuck into his hull.
Staring at the raging azure plasma glowing from within the tattered husk, she adjusted her position against a nearby rock to asses the situation. Apparently the blade did not completely sever the connection or at least it still completed the circuit. Alnitak would not pose a threat anymore, although his last action had left quite a significant impact. She couldn't scavenge; Alnitak’s shell was significantly damaged leaving only a semi-melted form and his neurocortex box. Reaching behind her head, she slowly swung her pack off one shoulder and onto her lap, being careful not to knock the hilt.
A dim orange dot shown through the dense atmosphere refracting off of the gases to create a fuzzy halo around its central light. The rusty sky stretched from brown rock outcrops on the horizon, encapsulating the entire wasteland under its amber grip. A titanic sandy orb hung dimly beyond the sky, floating idly, its gigantic arcs revolved around in eccentric rings, their extremal tips pointing towards the zenith. In a valley, she gazed around at the colossal dust slopes that stretched on ad infinitum. She lay alone against a small rock, legs outstretched.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal shell of the beacon as she pulled it from its velcro'd position, lifting the device up to see the small green backlit LCD screen. Having flipped the keyboard down, she carefully typed out a distress message: DMG 2 BTRY | RQST EVAC | ELTN 19-B. Depressing the transmit key, the deep red strobe flashed intermittently as its antenna pulsed out a series of encoded electromagnetic waves radially outwards towards any satellites or relay stations in range.
She reclined as much as the metal rod stuck into her body would allow as she tossed the transmitter a couple meters into the dust, producing a puff of floating particles as it displaced the top layer of sand before sinking slightly into the loose surface.
It would be a few hours, she thought to herself, before anyone gets here. The landscape provided little if any entertainment to hold her over for the time. Her eyes scanned over the rugged terrain. Nothing of note passed under the languid arc of her vision. Running her finger over the dial on the right flank of her head, she filtered through infrared, visible, and near ultraviolet ranges. The blandness of the valley changed slightly but still remained uninteresting.
She looked down at the sword sticking out from her damaged chest. The smooth dim steel didn’t reflect much light. It’s primary cutting edge--as it was a one edged sword--pointed down towards his right side. The incision was surgically precise leaving no room between the sliced plate and the nano-thin blade. It stayed attached inside her torse, although she had no haptic sensors interior so the exact orientation was unknown. Its hilt wasn’t special: a simple grip with a finger guard. That Alnitak should have anything more opulent would have been out of place.
The silver-blue hilt of her own weapon glinted from the sand a few meters away, its main components buried beneath a layer of dust. Latch snuggly secured, the cartridge stuck out slightly from the hilt. She only fired that thing once this whole trip. It was an unfortunate necessity.
White light emanated from the bright ceiling tiles, illuminating the entire superior aspect of objects in the carpeted room, while casting concentric shadows beneath. The white panel walls were divided at waist level by a bump guard that protruded slightly from the surface. A glass table rested at the center of the rectangular room, six chairs positioned about it. Eltanin sat in the furthest chair. Aiden Clarke stood against the wall, his left shoulder under the projected presentation. A low contrast picture of the surface entrance to a subsurface settlement. The misty orange atmosphere diffused the solar light to create a solar haze instead of a definite body. The metallic locking mechanism of the door shown in the ambient light.
“As we further expand our reach, sustenance is a key factor. Not everyone can be as resilient as certain people.” Clarke stated as he nodded at Eltanin. In a low voice he continued, “Gamma was testing large scale applications of the Henson process.” His eyes moved over the faces of those sitting at the table. “For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Henson process--it is a relatively new procedure--Henson is a Phd student in biological engineering. For his dissertation, he looked into possible alternatives to the food crisis. Current methods are eiter to grow it on earth, but this gets expensive with shipping costs (and everyone here knows how much SFC hates shipping cost)” at which point a light chuckle arose from the group. “Orbital provides a decent alternative in theory, just grow the food you need up there where conditions can be controlled and drop it down, but unfortunately in practice it is too technically challenging and acts as a supplement to shipping anyway. Colonies expand faster than SFC wants to build stations. So Henson began work on a novel solution.” Alnitak provided his answer to the question. “Stop sending flesh bags to places they shouldn't go.” he thought to himself. As it was nonverbal sarcasm, Clarke continued on, “fungi are quite resilient and can adapt quickly to environmental conditions. As temperatures in colony worlds range from 95 Kelvin to around 400, effective range is needed, especially for extrafacility agriculture. Henson manipulated an edible fungus to allow it to survive in cold temperatures. While messing with the DNA, he spliced in the ability to generate many needed vitamins. It was already proven to work on mice in laboratory conditions. Simulating martian base Boeotia Epsilon, they kept mice alive for seven months on just fungus grown in martian atmospheric conditions. Its not the best flavor--I've been told--but its a great advancement. Gamma was a scale test of that experiment. SFC doesn’t want to draw too much attention to it; media coverage would only worsen it. Additionally we cannot afford any orbital presence as we are dealing with union disputes at the Kepler relay stations. Six merchant marines on planet should do fine. Its six hours by dropship. We expect extensive dust storms throughout the morning, but just make sure to have your scarves on if you get caught in an agile one. Your personal duties are outlined in you docket. And yes, the Sims have to ride on the exterior platform. We can't survive out there for long period; you can. I get that your lemonades freeze outside, but you can't even drink those, so I don't get why you always complain about that.” he continued his little rants as Alnitak turned and nodded at Eltanin. They were the only Sims that would be on this mission. The other marines chuckled lightly as Clarke reached his summation.
“Clarke, I need my lemonade.” Alnitak signed, his servos squealing as his limbs formed the words.
Clarke closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then messaged his knotted forehead. He let out his breath. “There are only four seats in the cabin. If one of them go outside, we waste oxygen and--I don't know why I always argue with you. You're riding outside. You’re not even supposed to drink those on the job, so there are several reasons why that's not a justifiable reason for--no. I'm not getting into this.” his face was flush with disappointment as he turned and walked towards the door. It closed quietly behind him. The six stared at each other. They moved their eyes, observing everything, save for another gaze. Silence hung in the room besides the subtle inspiratory sounds and metallic sliding. A deep humming came from the generators on the surface.
The room popped as the air hissed out of the vents, depressurizing the room to match the exterior conditions. Behind a thick transparent plate, Clarke waved from the dimly lit control room. His face was cast in long shadows, obscuring his features. Armatures in the gauges swung violently, attempting to accurately depict the rapidly changing conditions. Eltanin stretched out on the platform, her spine rested along a divot in the paneling, head propped up on a standard issue pack. Her boots were positioned on the operator console for the defense systems. Alnitak was sitting on a box, lemonade in hand, his leg crossed over and he stared intently at Clarke through dilated shutters. The others were all peacefully inside their pressurized cabin chatting about whatever light topic happened to float out of their heads. Eltanin observed the aluminum shell of the lemonade begin to crinkle as the pressure inside dropped violently. Large folds began to develop in the wrinkled skin. A fault formed along the lateral plane of the can and almost instantly, the can imploded, tearing the casing apart, It send its contents flying out before they crystallized in mid flight. The pale yellow ice expanded and ruptured the rest of the can, as it shrunk down to grip the ice. Alnitak’s head was unmoved from its position pointing at the shaded control room. Unable to make out Clarke’s expression, Eltanin only noted a single hand rise up and cover the upper part of his head. He turned and stepped away from the panel just as the thrusters spurred up and the carriage heaved from the dock.
The dropship sailed through the hazy morning air, its thrusters blasting condensation vortices down into the frigid air. Eltanin pushed herself up against the exterior plate of the dropship and drew one knee closer. Alnitak was still gripping the crystalline tendrils of the lemonade between his yellow covered fingers. Her head moved down to observe the structure quickly fading into the orange fog. The colossal docking bay was swallowed up in amber blur, the titanic spires slipped softly into the haze. A strip of red lights pulsated up the entire tether as it stretched into nothingness outside of view. The iron lattice was gone; the extensive subsurface superfacility disappeared. The only substance left were small envoys of a singular pole; warning devices for passing traffic.
Alnitak tossed the destroyed aluminum can off the starboard rail, lemonade splintering into minute fractals as it sailed to the ground. He rested his chin in the rubber haptic pad of his left hand, extending his fingers to cup the side of his head. The shutters closed over his eyes and he fell asleep, his body going slightly limp under the weight of his upper body. Dust slowly collected on his jumpsuit, settling in the creases of the olive fabric and piling up on the metal protrusions. Dull orange particles amassed against the light green of the uniform.
Eltanin gripped the cuff of her left sleeve and began tugging it up the forearm. Exposing the two composite structural members of her arm with wires and cables slithering about she folded over the cuff in about equal portions, then pulled again to drag the cuff further up her arm. Having made three such folds, she carefully smoothed it out and made the cuff roughly equal before proceeding to her other arm. Working it up, she made much better progression and finished with a nicer cuff at her elbow. She moved her eyes to the other arm, noting the apparent inequality--the left was much lower down. Internally, she debated whether she should redo the left or just push it up and forget about it. Looking back at the other cuff, she pondered in this manner for some time. Eventually, she just tugged the left one a bit and stuffed some of the excess under before reclining back onto the exterior door to the cabin and closing her eyes. Clarke would have an aneurysm, she thought, if he saw two marines sleeping on the job, but base time is for fun and mission time is for sleep.
From nothing she was julted suddenly by the violent jerking of the craft. Her body slipped from the door and slid across the platform as the dropship tipped thirty degrees, before shuttering back to level. Her eyes quickly flew open, taking in the whipping rusty air flowing across the platform. If she had time to take in the scene, she may have noted the mini vortices formed around the sharp corners of the operating console or the incessant screaming of the air as it screeched around the rigid supports of the craft, but she reacted. Her legs scrambled to get her crouching, as she wrapped her arm around the railing to steady herself as he stood up. The winds forced against the broad plane of her torso, pushing her down. She could hear the patting of particles slamming against the exposed metal components of her arms and neck. Reaching down to the bag at her feet, she flipped open the main forward compartment and removed the combat mask. The stretchy straps pulled down behind her head, as the chin slid into place, the brown scarf flung violently in the wind behind her head. She grabbed the flicking tail and twirled it around her exposed neck, blocking out the eroding air.
Alnitak was already on the operator console checking whether maps above their region. He was hunched over the five foot seven display panel, tracing the jagged brown arcs of the storm against the brown ground beneath. His broad shoulders spread wide around the diminutive screen, his body narrowed by confining his arms to the tiny volume above the console. The pistons on the posterior aspect of his neck were fully extended with the anterior compressed to bring his face down from its usual seven four stature to the height of a standard issue human. His form was a classic example of what Mk-4’s tend towards although in him it was a bit more pronounced. Eltanin was more the exception.
Since Alnitak manned the satellite data, there remained little if anything for Eltanin to do in the whipping whirlwind thrashing the craft. She resolved to hang dutifully to the overhead rail, swaying under the influence of the pounding dust circling around her frame. The cry of the engines escalated in intensity, beating against her cochlean sensors, as the increased thrust lurched the craft shakily higher into the swirling cloud of brown sand. Quickly the storm appeared to drop off as the dropship rocked up towards the clearer air above. It popped up from the mass, sucking revolving traces of dust up in its wake. The platform leveled off, its contents settled back to their static positions. Alnitak’s shoulders extended wide as his head pulled back up erect. He rotated to Eltanin, then after a brief pause, stepped carefully to his seat. The screen on the console pulsated dimly. She walked forwards to look at its contents. Brushing the thin layer of dust into small piles along its borders, she traced the dark green dotted path to Gamma. Mission time four hours.
Her eyes moved up from the anodized console to the slow moving mass of volatile air underneath them. It was constant with no change in shape, texture, or color. It was a gradient free sandy glob of gas and particles a few meters under the platform. As her eyes moved up to the horizon, she saw the infinitesimal line of Antioch’s tether as a perpendicular black ray against the infinite curved divide between the swirling brown storm and the dismal orange encasement of the sky.
“Go fish” Eltanin signed to a dreary Alnitak who instinctively removed a card from the deck, depressing the card underneath to separate the magnetic strip. Alnitak’s hand consisted of only seven cards--eight now--and no three-of-a-kinds. He was disappointed, and the large languid arcs of his limbs betrayed the exterior cool he attempted to maintain. Silently, he cursed the deck and the deliberate misfortune it brought him. Eltanin queried as to Alnitak’s possession of any nines, to which, despite the mounting rage, Alnitak’s hand presented two nines face-up to the eager snatch of Eltanin’s quick fingers. She rearranged the cards, incorporating the newly acquisitioned nines into the fold.
Before she had the chance to produce the complete nonic set, the hatch swung open from the slanted wall, and Swanson’s steel-toed boot planted firmly on the outer deck. Propelling his frame upwards, he came to rest above the sitting Sims, looking down at them from behind the ample visor of his atmospheric scrubber. “We are five out from Gamma. Prep for landing. We have no intel regarding the situation. We are acting as if it is a section eleven until I ascertain the exact conditions. Eltanin, you will take point with Hunson and Fern. ‘Tak, you’re with us. We are going for insertion. Remember, there were seventeen civilian researchers here; keep it in check.” He marched to the aft ramp, awaiting touch down to disembark.
The engines pitched forwards as the craft descended out of the sky, rushing sand away from the landing zone into clouds that propagated from the dropship’s four main thrusters. Hydraulic pistons extended the feet of the craft which sunk into the ground as the vehicle dropped out of the sky. The ramp swung into the dust, puffing up thick puffs of dust as Swanson clambered down, rifle in hands, close to his chest. Hunson, Blackwell, and Fernstein emerged from the comforts of the pseudoleather bound cabin out into the unforgiving frigid desolate world beyond their condensation seeped visors.
The group walked off of the platform and made their way around the port side of the vehicle, ducking under the spurring down exhaust of the engines. Standing in a row, against the bleak amber rays breaking through the refracting atmosphere, they observed the cyclopean face of a satellite dish pointed towards the obscured zenith. The entire south side of the parabolic metal structure oozed and crept. A giant pulsating purple mass of seething orbs and surging veins encapsulated the device. Barren portions of the dish contained only the iron superstructure, lacking all aluminum plating, embedded in the writhing heap of violet. A dim red mist hung around the purple substance.
Thick necks of the stuff dripped down from the dish and stretched out along the heaving ground, tracing back to a colossal mouth set into a hill. The corruption emanated from the gaping hole. It breathed out a slow cloud of red haze from within its chthonic lungs.
“How shall we proceed?” queeried Fernstein.
Swanson remained still, eyes slowly scanning over the thing that pulsated before him. Silence surrounded them; the engines dropped off and stopped, leaving an uncomfortable expectancy in their wake. In a deep voice tinged with uncharacteristic wavering, Swanson began, “We need to contact SFC; there is no protocol for this. Rushing into this would only get us killed.”
Eltanin nodded slowly as she traced its chaotic form sprawled out on the chilled ground.
Lying latterly against the cabin wall, Eltanin listened apathetically to Blackwell and Fernstein debate the chromatic properties of their uniforms. Blackwell fervently maintained that it was clearly a sandy green, more the mixing of brown and green than a discrete color. Calling on Hunson for support, Hunson only turned his palms up and raised his shoulders, shaking his head with a sigh. Unaffected, Blackwell continued his passionate manifesto on the true nature of its color. Fernstein, being able to finally get a word in, asserted how the SFC merchant marine handbook clearly specified the olive property of the uniform. She rested on the objective and impassioned parentheses in the handbook. Quoting from it, she affirmed, “... are to wear their uniforms (olive) during on planet assignments …”. A mere bureaucratic note, was his response. It is cheaper to write olive than sandy green, was his addendum after a brief pause. Fernstein questioned why if bevity was desired, why mention the color at all unless it was to be exact. The debate raged on in this manner, both sides not budging or backing down until they ended up arguing about the nature of properties in general.
On the deck, Swanson related the situation through hushed words into the receiver of a radio transmitter, wrapping the coil around his idle finger. His voice vibrated the thin filament which swung an armature, encoding the words into electromagnetic wave that propagated down the twisted wire into the transmitter where the signal was mixed with a radio frequency wave and broadcast out into the bleak orange sky, flowing through space until it being detected by a passing communications satellite, at which point it is decoded sent to the operations station in Antioch. Vice Admiral Garrenth scrawled notes quickly on a legal pad as he heard the details. He reclined back into his upholstered chair, sinking his dense form into its foam padding. A rush of air escaped from his lungs, echoing off nostrils as it flowed out.
“This is unexpected” was all he could manage to relate. He stared intently at the SFC insignia above the main screen in the room.
“I am the highest rank not currently engaged in the kepler discussions. Do you assess the situation to be stable or dynamic, captain?”
Swanson turned to Alnitak and told him to go around and asses any changes. Alnitak leaped from the port railing and landed softly amidst a cloud of debris. Head pointed above his right shoulder he stared out at the violet mass. Silent for a moment as he determined any changes. He turned to Swanson, who anxiously stared down at him, and signed that “No noticeable change in..” he looked at the watch on his left wrist “..twenty minutes.”
Swanson held the receiver closer to the dimpled diaphragm of his exterior speakers and affirmed that it was stable over twenty. He only heard rhythmic breath crackle through. For a period there was no response, Swanson’s restless leg oscillating up and down, pitched forwards onto the toes he gripped the receiver tightly absorbing any popping static or inconsequential sound from the other side.
“Ill draft engagement protocol. Without a sample it is hard to determine how best to approach this. You stated it consumed aluminum, but not steel, right?”
Swanson nodded the affirmative then remembering the vocal nature of the communications, let out “yes, sir.”
“Secure a sample to take back to Antioch. Use a steel munitions crate to contain it for the trip back.” Garrenth commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
A shirl tone emanated from the receiver as communications ceased, still steeped in fuzzing chaos, it rung in his ear. The phone slid back into the grey slot on the panel of the dedicated transponder. With hatch pulled down and latch securely in place, Swanson turned and stepped into the center of the platform.
Alnitak’s wide arm swung over the rail and the tactile pads on the dorsal of his fingers frictioned against the rail as he lifted his body onto the platform. With back to him, Swanson began quietly, “why can't you just use the ramp?”
Alnitak didn't respond but instead swung his legs over and planted the rubber soles of his black boot firmly against the corrugated metal deck. He walked behind swanson, his shoulders towering over swanson’s frail body, casting a shadow of his immense form over the human. Placing the outstretched digits around his shoulder, Alnitak bent down to hear Swanson. His voice was low coming out of the speaker, “we need to get a sample of that thing back to Antioch. I don't know whether it'd be worse to send composite or organic tissue to get it.” His eyes pointed out towards the rocky outcrop in the distance, squinting under the flare off his visor. “What equipment should even be used? We’re outfitted for conflict resolution not containment. Maybe steel--what is the structural lattice of satellite dishes made from?”
“Steel” replied Alnitak as he walked around, staring down at swanson's static face.
“Lets scoop it up in a munitions crate--then get out of here.” Swanson summarily stated.
“Go touch it? With all due respect, sir, that's not a good idea” blackwell’s voice exclaimed from within the pressurized mask.
“It’s what command said. They need a sample to figure out what to do with it.” defended Swanson without any conviction in his voice.
“Go make the Sims do it.”
At this, Alnitak stooped down, poking his head into the cabin, eyes contracted pointed at blackwell’s averted gaze. In quick deliberate motions he signed, “you belligerent racist, you can't just send us to do it because you're too yellow. The SFC has made it clear that you can't discriminate against Sims--” swanson's upraised hand stopped Alnitak's furious rant. In a calm voice he started, “Eltanin and Hunson will go collect the sample. I don't want to be here any longer than we need to be, so let's get moving.”
Eltanin slid her back up the wall as she met Hunson’s gaze. His brown eyes were shadowed by the protruding visor, blocking the dim maroon light filling the cabin. The faint hum of the on board generator perturbed the choking silence that gripped the room. Eltanin was first to move after a period, lifting herself up by the overhead bar as she started walking towards the door.
Once she attained the platform, Hunson scampered out of the dusky cabin to her side. He was slightly taller, and the bulky protection equipment exaggerated the disparity. The aluminum deck echoed as his boots stepped across towards the ammo crate resting in the shadow of the artillery cannon. Requiring two to lift the massive box, Hunson waited with hand wrapped around the handle for Eltanin’s slow arm to assist him. She kicked the latch to unlock the upper lid which swung up under the force of her boot, hitting against side rail before falling back into place. She grabbed the cold metal handle, squeezing the textured pads as they hoisted the container up, gently tipping the box to roll out the eight artillery shells from the interior. The shells rumbled out the irregular walls of the crate before clanging to the ground in a haphazard pile.
They walked side by side with the emptied box between them. The dim sun blazed through the clouds as it dipped slowly down towards the nadir. Thin rays diffused through the thick orange haze as it scattered creating more of an ambient glow than directional lighting. Amber light bounced off the remaining silver surfaces of the satellite dish, glinting as the two approached the seething mass stretched out on the dismal ground.
As they got closer, the red haze thickened and flowed around them, filling the space between them and slipping through the void in Eltanin's forearm, encasing everything in sight within a crimson cloud.
Without noticing, Hunson sank his foot deep into the sliming purple thing. A squishing sound emerged from within the hole deepening as he attempted to pull it out. The suction increased against his foot, keeping it covered in a layer of pulsating violet. In a panic, he jumped back, tossing his side of the munitions crate forwards as he fell quickly backwards ripping off a hunk of the fungus with his boot, kicking the mass into the air. Eltanin started back as the box dragged her forwards towards the undulating form. Kicking her heels into the soft ground and decompressing her shoulder piston to yank her handle, she swung the crate around her as she pivoted on her dug in foot. She let go as inertia sent the crate flying off to her right directed away from the mass, momentum launching her leftward, toppling over Hunson’s lower body. Her metal torso bounced off of his insulated olive pants, driving her further down, clanging limbs together and against his shaking feet. Dust puffed up, mixing intimately together with the swirling ruby haze drifting above.
Scrambling backwards on his twitching arms, Hunson crawled away from the seething ooze, kicking his boot at the creeping thing. The red particles floating obscured his vision, limiting it to a very close field. He could see Eltanin’s legs as she retracted them closer to her red tinted body. She shot her gaze to Hunson, shutters dilated expressing to him the urgency of their situation with her eyes before he even saw her signing towards the crate that lay upturned on its side in the brown dust that crept up the chilled walls.
She crawled over to the box, marking a wide arc with her elbows and knees around the purple. She gripped the side munitions crate, wrapping her fingers around the lip of the box, contacting the inside with the depressed haptic pads on her finger tips. Tugging vigorously, she heard her pistons popping as the box fell upright.
The purple effluvium dripped between her fingers as she tossed a thick scoop of sludge into the box, touching it for the least amount of time possible. It splattered against the steel wall, spreading its lavender tendrils over the surface as it slid down into the oppressive red-tinted shadow of the box.
Sandy dust flew up in a violent puff as her hand shot down into the ground to purge the purple corruption from the glinting metal components of her hand. Twisting it against the shifting soil, she attempted to remove any contaminants. Hunson’s figure obscured the sun, throwing Eltanin’s crouching body into a bleak shadow, as his hand planted down on her shoulder.
“We need to go.” He squacked out from his exterior speakers, the silence of the red mist drowning out his shout so that when it reached her ears it was a frightened whisper. Eltanin, removing her hand from the ground, grabbed his outstretched hand and lifted herself up. She marched to pick up one side of the box as Hunson ran to grab the other handle shorty before he broke into a full sprint towards the faded shape of the dropship hidden behind a ruby vail.
Dropping the crate down onto the echoing metal deck of the drop ship, Hunson and Eltanin dropped down in a heap as Blackwell threw the lid down and secured the latch. A faint cry already came from the spurring up engines, kicking up dust under the craft. Hunson laid outstretched on the platform, eyes staring intently at irregular rivets of the overhead canopy, his chest rising and falling quickly under the thick jumpsuit, an olive mound yielding to a shadowed green divot that cycled in exhaustion.
Swanson stepped into the cabin followed behind by Blackwell’s quick gait. Alnitak loomed over the shivering pile of Eltanin and Hunson. He stooped down, placed his monstrous hand around Eltanin’s arm and lifted her up as he straightened his back, holding her limp as he attempted to right her. She gained control of her legs and managed to stand upright with the assistance of the overhead bar.She turned to look out at the decaying dish as the dropshift hoisted into the sky, banking around to afford her a perpendicular view of the surging mire clinging to the rotting structure of satellite dish.
As she turned back from the purple muck, Hunson was being lifted by the immense arms of Alnitak, Hunson’s diminutive form flapping under the power behind the metallic hissing of his pistons. She saw Alnitak place him against the slanted wall of the cabin, as he sucked in scrubbed nitrogen infused with cold compressed oxygen through gaping mouth.
“Fleshie nerves,” signed Alnitak as he walked across the platform to the console, pushing the fungus filled container against the railing as his feet moved by. Eltanin swayed under the wind flowing around the side of the dropship, her hand wrapped around the cold metal bar hanging from the upper canopy. She moved her head to face Hunson, whose vigorous inhalations gave way to somnolent gasping. Just fleshie nerves, she doubtfully thought to herself as she moved her gaze to Alnitak’s titanic back, neck pistons fully extended, twisting his head so she could stare at the broad flank of his imposing temporal plate.
“What the hell happened?” exclaimed Swanson as he bent over the Hunson’s limp suit. He turned to face the Sims as Hunson slumped sideways, loose arm dropping over his body, fingers untensioned. Swanson’s face was clenched, eyes narrowed at Eltanin. Back straightened, he stood firmly, severe stare jumping from the sympathetic eyes of Eltanin to Alnitak’s averted gaze.
“That wasn’t a question; that was an order.” He asserted unblinking.
“Actually--” Alnitak began before his cognitive processes caught up with his hands.
“Why is there that purple goo dripping out of his mouth? Why is there red mist filling up his helmet? And why did you not do anything sooner?” his voice wavered as his burning rage shown threw his cool resolve.
Alnitak began defensively, “We didn’t notice anything amiss. We had assumed it was just hysteria. You know how they--” noticing the fierce stare of his audience, he corrected, “certain people suffer from such fits.”
“He’s a marine, not a certain person. You didn’t notice him actively dying not two meters from your lofty head?”
“No. Apparently not, sir.”
“You’ll be put on suspension for this. Maybe even decommissioned.”
At this, Eltanin interjected, “Alnitak assessed him after you went into the cabin. He determined it was ‘fleshie nerves.’”
Turning up to face Alnitak, Swanson lost his composure, “You assessed him and deemed it ‘fleshie nerves?’ Is this a joke?”
“That’s what she said” he answered.
“I want to see you say it.”
“I assessed it to be fleshie nerves.”
“So the fungus growing inside his bronchi didn’t affect your diagnosis?”
“I hadn’t determined there was fungus in his lungs, sir.”
“Well, I determined it! You’re getting decommissioned.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything! That’s what’s wrong.”
Alnitak stepped back, turning his massive torso around to face off the aft railing. Swanson launched forwards, grabbing the thick metal cylinder of Alnitak’s upper arm. He tugged on the immovable limb. Alnitak swung around extending his arm out, throwing Swanson across the deck into the slanted wall of the dropshift. As Swanson’s body slid down the panel, Alnitak’s leg springs exploded, launching him towards the two limp bodies against the cabin. His pronged foot slammed down, tearing through Hunson’s suit which exploded in a red haze leaking out of the two parallel rips. The titanium knuckles dented the wall after he hammered his hand against it. Swanson managed to turn his body around to stare at Alnitak before he was snagged on the composite fingers which began to lift him up. He began to shout something out before he was silenced by the wind whipping by his head as he flew down from the lateral railing of the craft.
Eltanin watched Alnitak retract the hand that tossed Swanson’s limp figure from the platform. The metal plates of his arm reflected spectral light, while the composite members only appeared as matte black. Falling to his side, the arm ceased its deliberate action. Alnitak stood, body pointed away from Eltanin, head pivoted towards the side of the craft. Due to the unusual circumstances of the assignment, Eltanin had forgotten a railgun dangled from her shoulder harness, but because of the increased activity, she remembered.
Alnitak grabbed the lever to the cabin and yanked it open, dislodging the door from its pressurized seal. Shouts from within echoed out of the opening door as the exposed skin of Blackwell and Fernstein became blue. The chilling air rushed in and sucked the heat from the interior of the cabin, the flashing maroon warning light powerless against the imposing winds swirling around the cyanotic flesh.
Having lost active piloting, the craft began rocking violently. Its stability gone, it oscillated with an increasing amplitude until the entire dropshift tipped over and rolled down, engines spinning wildly as the vehicle fell from the sky. Eltanin slipped out of the platform, slowly floating away from the deck she saw Alnitak leap off of the diagonal wall just as the craft crumpled against the solid ground. Starting in the front compartment, an orange plasma ball exploded, engulfing the vehicle in its amber wave, as the sand within a meter radius turned to green crystalline glass before being consumed in the widening fireball. The metal of the craft turned to gas in the fire.
Eltanin crashed down on the peripheral of the explosion. She quickly compressed herself into a tight form as the weakened plasma overshadowed her. The standard issue uniform vaporized off of her body, turning into a green mist before bursting into flames. While the reinforced composite-lined material of her pack only shrunk and wrinkled in the dissipating heat.
The explosion subsided, sucking air into the void. Eltanin was quickly cooled by the surplus of frigid air. She slowly extended her limbs, checking diagnostic information on her body systems. The titanium plate on the posterior of her torso absorbed the brunt of the explosion, keeping the more sensitive systems functioning.
Her eyes were fixed on the back of Alnitak. He was farther away facing towards the sun. His hand reached over his shoulder and wrapped around the hilt of his short sword. Pulling it out of the sheath, he extended the blade upwards, the golden rays glinting off of the smooth steel. In a large circular arc, he brought the sword to hang by his waist.
Eltanin began to get up when she noticed the fused soles of her boots. In the heat the rubber melted and ran into a common pool before resolidifying in the frozen air. She maneuvered her feet out of the scorched husks of the boots before she pushed herself up. By this time Alnitak had turned around and looked severely at Eltanin. He attached the hilt of his sword to a magnetic plate on his outer thigh.
“Are you with me?” he signed across the smoking valley.
She didn’t respond but reached to feel the rail gun resting in its wrinkled holster. The back part the holster had evaporated so it only clung to the front of her titanium torso. Her fingers interlaced into the finger guard of the pistol as she removed the weapon, knocking the holster to the ground.
“Are you with me?” he called again.
Eltanin didn’t respond. She stared at the ground beneath Alnitak’s feet, walking deliberately forward, gun in hand.
Alnitak gleaned her intentions and began a series of reasoned arguments.
“They will hold you responsible for all of this. You fear decommissioning as much as I do.”
She marched on.
“I only reacted in our best interest. Humans have degraded us for too long. If Hunson had left one of us to die, he would only have to pay a fine for damaged property.”
Her shutters contracted, focusing on the sharp angles of Alnitak’s head.
“I cannot kill a fellow Sim. It is too horrible a thought. You cannot either I know this.”
Her feet kicked up dust as her speed increased towards him.
“If this is how you will be then fine. I will reason with my sword.”
At this he drew the weapon from his hip and pointed the tip towards her. She sprinted to close the distance. As she approached, his form appeared to grow more massive and the hard lines of his face were cast into more abrupt shadows, further exaggerating his stark features.
She leaped from the ground, arm extended, eyes closed as her body slammed into the blunt plane of his torso, knocking him down from his firm position. She stumbled but regained he stability. With keen eyes wide, she reached out and snatched the thick pistons of his neck while he floundered on the dust. The contractile plates in her hand exerted a shearing force against the trunks of the pistons until, splintering into tiny shard, the pistons snapped under her grasp. His head rolled uncontrollably as he slammed his foot into the ground and launched up to his full imposing stature. His arm shot forwards, innately, plunging the nano-thin blade deep within Eltanin’s torso. She looked down at the metal weapon protruding from her damaged chest, her eyes then moving up to the sideways face of Alnitak noticed in his eyes a tinge of remorse. Almost without thinking, she jammed the railgun against his chest and depressed the trigger. In an instant, his body began to disassociate in a deep azure glow escaping from the minute openings in his plating. Her foot went up and kicked against his rupturing torso, sending both Sims flying apart. In mid flight he began to melt from the inside out due to the growing plasma peeking out in thin flares from within.
She landed in the dust, eyes wide and pointed towards the exploding form of Alnitak. His two arms flew away from his frame, broken in several places and splintering as the plasma licked at them. One leg dropped off of his body and landed on its side in the sand, sinking halfway under. The main section of Alnitak slammed into the ground just as the blue fire ball tore through the titanium plate and escaped into the unforgiving atmosphere. He--or his form--laid motionless in a smoking pile.
Eltanin looked down at the blade jutting out of her. She looked up at the destroyed Alnitak. While Alnitak had damaged something inside of her, she felt that she broke something deeper within herself.
