Dead Space Martyr Part 29

He stepped back, stunned. His shoes and legs were slick with blood, blood spattered on his chest and arms, too. White, he saw was still alive, but in shock, his back a b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.s. Altman knelt down beside him and slapped his face, tried to get him to pay attention. The man's eyes flicked slightly and then clouded over. He was dead.

"Is he all right?" asked Showalter.

Altman opened his mouth and gave him artificial respiration for a moment, trying to breathe him back to life, tasting the dead man's blood on his lips.

Showalter touched his shoulder.

"Leave him," he said.

He looked up and shook his head. He was just turning back toward the mouth when he heard a crack, saw White's torso convulse.

He pushed away from it and scrambled back. The body seemed to be going through a fit, shaking and contorting. And then it began to change.

Altman watched, horrified, trying to keep his panic under control. "What the h.e.l.l is going on?" he said.

"He's changing," said Showalter. "He's one of them now."

"Let's get the f.u.c.k out of here," said Altman.

"I'm afraid there's one more thing we have to do," said Showalter.

"What's that?" asked Altman.

"We need to take steps to make sure he doesn't come after us."

Altman nodded, his lips grim. "You mean ..." he said.

"We're going to have to dismember him."

The two of them were standing together, breathing heavily, staring down at blood and gore on the floor, the pieces of the creature, and of the partially transformed White. I'll never be the same, I'll never be the same, thought Altman, and he could tell by the way Showalter dodged his gaze that he felt similarly. He'd been having nightmares before, but he had material for an entirely new set of them now. thought Altman, and he could tell by the way Showalter dodged his gaze that he felt similarly. He'd been having nightmares before, but he had material for an entirely new set of them now.

"I got through to Field," said Peter Fert. "He says as far as he can determine, the creatures are still all in the lower levels. He'll try to get to the airlock and shut it, and then wait for us to contact him."

"If we're going to make it, we'll need something other than guns," said Altman. "Bullets don't do enough. They barely even slow the things down."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Showalter.

"We raid the labs and janitorial closets as we go," said Altman. "See what we can find. Anything that'll cut off a limb or get partway there."

They found, in the first lab they came to, a handheld plasma cutter, which, by uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the guard, could be made into a close-combat weapon. Showalter recalibrated a laser pistol taken off a dead guard using the tools of the next lab to give it a wider beam, something with a little slicing power. Peter Fert dug up a laser scalpel, modified it to cut through an object as thick as a wrist.

"Probably won't stop them," said Altman.

"First thing I'm worried about is cutting through their scythes," said Fert. "If I can get that far, I'll be lucky."

"All right," said Altman. "What do we have to lose? Let's go."

58 "You've got two seconds to explain what in the living h.e.l.l is going on, Krax," said Markoff. He was gesturing to a series of open holovids strung over the console that showed the floating compound in chaos. Here, a table was overturned, researchers and guards alike crouched behind it. There, a man was being skewered by a strange creature that looked like a cross between a spider and the whirling blades of death. Another showed a scene of carnage, bits and pieces of bodies strewn all up and down the hallway. In another, a group of humanoid creatures lurched back and forth, at a loss.

Krax looked panicked. He was sweating, his eyes darting left and right. "We're being attacked. Monsters of some sort. I don't know who or what."

"What the f.u.c.k are they, and how did they get on board?"

"I don't have any idea," said Krax. "I've never seen anything like them."

"They look familiar," said Stevens. "Haven't you noticed?"

"Familiar?" said Markoff, and squinted at one of the vids. "Yes," he said, nodding. "I see what you mean."

"That one there," said Stevens, "that used to be Molina. You can tell by what's left of the face. They're all wearing bits of clothing, too, sc.r.a.ps of it."

"They used to be human?" asked Krax.

Stevens nodded. "But they certainly aren't now."

"What's behind it?" asked Markoff.

"Right now I'm debriefing Hideki Is.h.i.+mura, one of our astrophysicists," said Krax. "He was the first one to witness one of them-the first one still alive, anyway. But he's scared half to death-I'm not getting much out of him. He keeps saying Guthe's name, though, over and over again. I thought he was babbling, but if they come from humans maybe Guthe was the first."

"Hurried along, no doubt, by you shooting him in the head," said Markoff. "Where's this Is.h.i.+mura? I want to talk to him."

"He's right here, ready to be evacuated. We have to get out of here, sir."

"I don't like to run from a fight," said Markoff.

"You're not dealing with anything human," said Krax. "You shoot one of these things two or three times in the head and they keep coming. You tear its head clean off and it keeps coming."

"That's impossible," said Markoff.

Krax shook his head. "How can you fight that?"

"So a tactical retreat," said Markoff. "We'll get out and then regroup. I suppose there are often setbacks like this on the way to major discoveries."

"This is not a setback, sir," said Krax. "This is a disaster."

Markoff gave him a hard stare. "How many men all told? One hundred? Two? Even with all or almost all transformed into those hideous creatures, it's not much in the grand scheme of things. Just a setback. We'll be back in operation before you know it."

"Are you kidding?"

"Let's take advantage of all these cameras set up all through the facility," said Markoff. "Set them up to transmit to the escape boat. No reason we can't watch and learn. It should be very instructive."

"You can't possibly be thinking-"

"The Marker exists," said Markoff. "Either we make something of it or someone else does. The losses we've had and will have are acceptable losses."

"I suggest we leave, sir," said Krax, voice strained.

"You've already made yourself clear, Mr. Krax," Markoff said. "Stevens and I will prepare to evacuate. I'm still considering what to do with you."

"You're not thinking of leaving me, are you?"

"Indeed I am. As I told you before, you're far from expendable, Mr. Krax."

"Craig," said Stevens in his soft, pleasant voice. "There's no point in leaving Krax here. He'll be much more of a help to us alive than dead. You'll not only be punis.h.i.+ng him but punis.h.i.+ng us as well."

Markoff hesitated a moment. "Always the sensible one," he said. "Have you at least got a clear escape route prepared for us, Krax?"

"I do," said Krax. "We're ahead of the tide. If we leave now, we can avoid it."

"All right," Markoff a.s.sented. "Lead the way."

59 "What about Markoff?" asked Altman.

"What about him?" asked Showalter.

"What's he think about all this?"

"I don't know," said Showalter. "Been trying to contact him off and on for quite a while. Nothing doing. Dead maybe?"

"I'd be surprised," said Altman.

They were traveling through a sequence of laboratories, moving first into the control station and then, through the safety door, into the lab itself. They had seen a few more of the creatures but had succeeded in dodging all but two of them, which they'd managed to carve up without losses. The first lab had been normal, nothing to worry about, but as soon as he opened the door to this one, Altman knew something was different. Something was off. off.

And then he saw it. Growing out of one of the air ducts and spilling onto the floor was a strange ma.s.s of tissue. It had spread along the floor itself, had seemingly become a part of it.

He gestured at it with his cutter.

"It's starting to get around," he said. "Spreading through the vents."

A few seconds later, the lights flickered and went out, leaving only the emergency lighting on, the room now cast in thick shadow.

"They're getting to the power grid now," said Showalter. "We'd better hurry."

They were almost to the door to the next lab when they heard a scuttling in the vents above them. The grille just above them was kicked out, and something fell down onto the deck, just missing them.

It was formless and pulsing, a kind of mound that at times stretched flat and looked like little more than a puddle. It slid slowly across the deck. As it crossed the floor, it left a sizzling stain inflicted on the deck itself. Anything it touched was either sucked in and disappeared or was stripped to bare metal. In the slow roll of it, Altman glimpsed from time to time a human skull, stripped to bone, and even once what looked like a laughing human face.

"How do you cut the limbs off something that doesn't have any limbs?" asked Fert.

It moved slowly toward them, attracted perhaps by the vibration of their voices or propelled by some other means. It wasn't aggressive; it seemed to have another purpose. As it eased them back, making them feel trapped, Altman began to wonder what it was. It stripped the deck bare, got rid of all features. Transfixed, he couldn't help but watch, thinking they were finally out of time. It destroyed everything in its wake, living or dead. And he wouldn't be surprised if, when it did, it grew grew. How big would it get? Were there any limits? Would it consume the entire world?

"We should go back," Showalter said.

Altman nodded, and they started back toward the door they had come from. Fert was just about to open it, but Altman stopped him.

"Not yet," he whispered. he whispered. "Heard something." "Heard something."

He pressed his ear to the door's panel. Yes, definitely something out there, just on the other side of the door, and from the sc.r.a.ping and moaning sounds, he was pretty certain it wasn't human.

What now? Altman wondered, his eyes casting around the room for something to get them out. Maybe they could leap the creature and run around it. Maybe they should simply leave the room and start firing at whatever was outside, trying to incapacitate it before the creeper caught up with them and engulfed them. Altman wondered, his eyes casting around the room for something to get them out. Maybe they could leap the creature and run around it. Maybe they should simply leave the room and start firing at whatever was outside, trying to incapacitate it before the creeper caught up with them and engulfed them.

And then he realized Fert was pointing and gesturing. There, just shy of the edge of the creeper, was a hydrogen tank, a torch screwed into its nozzle. Altman reached out and grabbed it, dragging it back with him.

He spun the nozzle as open as it would go, sparked the torch alight, and adjusted it to give him the longest spurt of flame possible. He dipped it down, near the floor, and sprayed the creeper.

Where the flame touched it, it caught fire, burning and bubbling black. Elsewhere the creeper withdrew from the flames, trying to get away. He moved forward, spraying it, coughing in the acrid smoke it raised. Even where it was black and burning, it didn't stop moving exactly, the burnt portions folding under into the core and disappearing. But at least it was moving in the other direction now.

"I can hold it at bay," he called back to Showalter and Fert. "But I can't get rid of it."

Fert had just started to respond when the door crashed in. Still waving the torch, Altman glanced back over his shoulder to see Fert lopping off a scythe with his laser scalpel. Showalter was backing away, firing the laser pistol steadily, a half dozen of the shambling things coming at him with their bladelike arms. Fert was in the middle of them, surrounded on all sides, doing his best to cut his way free, but there were too many. Altman watched as one of them plunged his face into Fert's neck. Fert, screaming, tried to pry it off and finally did, knocking it back and cutting into its mouth with the laser scalpel, but another was instantly in its place. Fert was screaming. A moment later his head had been torn free, his decapitated body collapsing onto the deck.

Two were down. Another was crippled, one arm and one leg inoperative, but it still dragged itself forward, hissing. Showalter stomped on it.

That left three. Altman gave the creeper a last blast and turned, dragging the cutter out. One was just bringing its bone scythe down whistling toward Showalter's back, but the cutter caught it in time, shaving the appendage off close to the body. Another scythe tore a gash in his arm, and he almost dropped the cutter. Cursing, he managed to hold on to it and sliced the creature's legs out from under it. A laser blast flashed by his head and left the arm of the last one half disarticulated, but with a cry it sprang forward, brus.h.i.+ng past Altman and charging at Showalter.

The latter stumbled back, his laser pistol going off and singeing the wall. Together Showalter and the creature fell, toppling backward and into the creeper.

Altman immediately fired up the torch and rushed forward, but it was too late. Showalter was engulfed and simply gone, part of the pulsating, s.h.i.+fting ma.s.s. Weirdly enough, it did the same thing to the creature, engulfing it just as quickly and dramatically, swallowing one of its own.

He stomped on one of the creatures that was still moving and then lay down a blast of flame along the creeper's side. It withdrew, moving back enough to allow him to sidle past and out the door.

Just me now, he thought. he thought. Down to one. Down to one.

It was hard not to feel that there was no point going forward. It was inevitable-one of them would catch him, tear him apart.

But he kept going. He was limping now, though he wasn't exactly sure why, not sure what had happened to his leg. He'd bandaged his arm with a first aid kit from the lab, stopping every once in a while to drive the creeper back with the torch.

He'd been lucky. Creeping through the half dark of the emergency lights, he'd met five of the bladed creatures since Fert and Showalter had died, never in sets of more than two, never in a place where one could get around behind him while the other tore him up from the front. The single one had been easy, but the pairs had been harder, and he couldn't help thinking when it was all over that if the cutter had just once gone a little high or a little low one of the creatures would have sunk its maw into his neck and that would have been the end of him.

And then he saw Ada. She contacted him by holovid, a static-thick message.

"Michael," she said. "Are you there?"

"Ada," he said. "Is that you?"

"I'm here," she said. "I'm safe for now, but I don't know what they're going to do with me. If you get this, please hurry, Michael."

"Ada, where are you?" Altman said.

But she didn't seem to be listening. She reached out beneath the camera, and the image flickered and shorted out, then began again.

"Michael, are you there?" she said.