Dead Space Martyr Part 31

"Whose orders?"

Terry just shrugged.

"I don't want to come in," Altman said, moving slightly forward. "There's something I need to finish first."

"And I don't want to shoot you," said Terry. "But I will. Drop that thing and put your hands up."

Suddenly the gate started to rattle, someone banging on it. Terry's eyes flicked toward it just for a moment, just long enough for Altman to lunge and knock the gun to one side. It fired, the bullet sparking off the fence, but Terry didn't drop it, indeed was already starting to bring it back to bear on him. Altman flicked the plasma cutter on and flashed it toward him in the same movement. The energy blade sliced through his forearm, the gun and the hand holding it tumbling to the ground.

For a moment Terry was too shocked to realize what had happened. He just stood there, unable to figure out what had happened to his arm. And then, it hit him. Eyes wide, he stepped back and took in a deep breath to scream.

Altman, not knowing what else to do, ran, trying not to hear the screams of the man behind him. He darted out the gate and was joined by Chava, who ran along beside him.

"I came and knocked for you," he said, "and now you come."

"A good thing you did, too," said Altman. "Where's the old man?"

"El Borracho?" asked Chava. "He had to go. He was thirsty." asked Chava. "He had to go. He was thirsty."

He started back down the street, the boy following him. What now? What now? He turned and crouched beside the boy. He turned and crouched beside the boy.

"I have to destroy some devils," he said. "Like the thing you saw on the beach."

"I will help you," said Chava. "Together we will kill them."

"No," said Altman. "It is not a game. You cannot come. I must find weapons and go alone."

The boy thought a moment and then smiled. "You will come with me," he said. "Follow."

The boy led him down through the streets and to the shantytown and then to the edge of the jungle. He went to a particular tree and put his hand on it and then carefully pointed himself in a particular direction and, stiff-legged, started to walk, pounding his footsteps hard against the ground. When the sounds of his footsteps changed, he stopped.

"Here," he said, and pointed at the ground. He crouched and began to brush the dirt away until he had uncovered a steel ring and a wooden trapdoor about two feet wide and six feet long. He gestured to Altman to open it.

He put the plasma cutter on the ground and reached down and pulled on the ring. The door creaked up on its hinge, revealing underneath it a coffinlike s.p.a.ce lined with rocks. One half was full of guns and rifles, maybe a dozen in all. The other held axes and mauls, tree-spikes, a machete, a can of fuel, an old-style chain saw.

"You may use these," said the boy solemnly. "But you must bring them back. They belong to my father."

"What exactly does your father do?" he asked.

"He is for the people. He is ..." For a moment he couldn't think of the words, and then it suddenly came to him. "Ecological guerrilla."

"Thank G.o.d for tree huggers," said Altman.

He took the chain saw, left the rest where it was, though this confused the boy.

"These monsters," he asked, wide-eyed. "They are trees?"

At first Altman thought to answer him properly, but when he started speaking, he suddenly realized how complicated the response would be. He just nodded and said, "Yes, trees."

But this created new complications. "How can trees be monsters?" the boy wanted to know.

"It's hard to explain," said Altman.

"And what kind of tree?" he asked. He began to rattle off Spanish tree names, following Altman.

Altman ignored him. He was almost back to the boat, the boy still following him, when his holopod sounded. When he answered, Krax's face appeared on the holoscreen.

"Altman," he said. "h.e.l.lo."

He switched off. Krax called again immediately. He thought of not answering, but knew Krax would just keep calling until he did. So he answered. But this time he kept walking.

"This thing you did to Terry," said Krax. "Hardly subtle. I could have you arrested."

"Somehow I don't think you're going to do that," said Altman.

"Probably not," he admitted. "But I have to say, I think you overreacted. We just wanted to talk to you."

"You didn't just want to talk to me," he said. "You wanted to keep me there."

"It's for your own good. Don't do anything foolish, Altman. Come back."

"No," said Altman.

"What about your girlfriend, Altman?" he said. "What about Ada? Would you come back for her?"

Altman stopped. "Put her on," he said.

For the first time, Krax's composure cracked slightly. "She's not available right now," he said.

"You can't because she's dead," said Altman.

"Don't be ridiculous, Altman. Why would she be dead?"

"I started hallucinating her," said Altman. "Either you killed her or she killed herself. Which was it, Krax?"

"Hallucinations don't mean anything," Krax insisted. "She's alive."

Altman started moving again. "Show her to me, then," said Altman. "If I see her, I'll come back."

"As I said," said Krax, "that's not possible. You'll just have to trust me. Your girlfriend's life is in your hands."

He was at the dock now. "Good-bye, Krax," Altman said, and disconnected, powering the holopod all the way off.

He loaded the gear into the boat and climbed in himself. Chava tried to clamber in, but Altman stopped him.

"Stay here," he said. "I already have enough deaths on my conscience."

61 As he navigated the boat through the swells and felt the spray on his face, there was a lot of time to think. I'm crazy, I'm crazy, he thought at first. he thought at first. I shouldn't be going back. I was lucky to escape alive the first time I shouldn't be going back. I was lucky to escape alive the first time. And indeed, he might have stayed on land if Ada hadn't been dead. But no, as it was, there was no reason to go back to land. He felt he had to end it.

And then he began to think of what the old drunk had said when he met him on the dock: The only way to beat the devil is to take the devil inside you. You must open yourself to the devil. You must learn to think like the devil. The only way to beat the devil is to take the devil inside you. You must open yourself to the devil. You must learn to think like the devil.

And how would the devil think? Or how, in this case, would the Marker think?

If anyone would know, Altman thought, it would be him. He had seen the Marker many times, had survived close proximity to it even when it was broadcasting fully. It had spoken to him by way of hallucinations again and again.

What had it said most recently, through his memories of Ada? I need you, Michael. I need you to finish what you started. I need you, Michael. I need you to finish what you started. That was vague-like most of what the ghosts told him, it was hard to pin down. Earlier, in the dream, it had been much more specific. But was it really the Marker speaking to him through the dream or was it only a dream, or even something else? A dream was a far cry from a hallucination. That was vague-like most of what the ghosts told him, it was hard to pin down. Earlier, in the dream, it had been much more specific. But was it really the Marker speaking to him through the dream or was it only a dream, or even something else? A dream was a far cry from a hallucination.

But maybe the dream was his subconscious mind trying to tell him something. What exactly had Ada said? I need you to do something for me, I need you to do something for me, she had said. she had said. I want to have a baby. That's what I need. It'll bring us closer together. I want to have a baby. That's what I need. It'll bring us closer together.

But was a dream the same thing as a hallucination? Maybe it was a different force altogether-maybe not his subconscious at all but something else. What did she mean by having a baby? Were these creatures, the crewmen that had been transformed after death into monsters, the Marker 's offspring? Well, yes, he supposed so, in a manner of speaking, if he was right in thinking they'd been created by the Marker 's transmitted code. But unless he was mistaken, his dream about Ada had not raised the issue with him until after the creatures, whatever they were, had been sp.a.w.ned. Indeed, he must have had the dream just after just after the creatures had appeared, even though Altman hadn't known about them until a few minutes later, when the alarm woke him up. the creatures had appeared, even though Altman hadn't known about them until a few minutes later, when the alarm woke him up.

Maybe he should take the dream literally. Maybe that was exactly what the Marker was demanding of them: that they reproduce it. Maybe if he could convince the Marker that he understood, that he could reproduce it, things would return to normal.

It was simple, he thought.

And then doubts a.s.sailed him. He was basing it all on a dream, and it didn't jibe perfectly with what his hallucinations had been telling him. It could mean nothing, or even be something else, another force, trying to manipulate him. It was almost too simple. And even if he was right, who was to say that if he did what the Marker wanted things would go back to normal? Maybe they would just get worse. What if the Marker had no stake whatsoever in the survival of the human species but saw humans only as a means to an end? If that end is fulfilled, If that end is fulfilled, he thought, he thought, will it still need us, or will it crush us, almost without thinking, as if we were flies? will it still need us, or will it crush us, almost without thinking, as if we were flies?

What if we're trapped between a rock and a hard place? he wondered. he wondered. What if humanity is going to die either way? What if humanity is going to die either way?

He shook his head. It was the best he could come up with. He'd have to take a chance. But what choice he would make, what he'd choose to risk, he didn't know. Altman's wager, Altman's wager, he thought. In any case, the Marker was the key. There was no choice but to return to the Marker, no matter what stood in the way. he thought. In any case, the Marker was the key. There was no choice but to return to the Marker, no matter what stood in the way.

It was nearly dark now. There, up ahead, were the lights of the floating compound, dim, running on the emergency backup, but still there. Soon he would be there as well. Soon he'd either have his answer or he'd be dead.

PART SEVEN

THE END OF THE WORLD

62

Even before he had opened the hatch, he could hear a skittering sound from inside, could see through the gla.s.s dim shapes moving below as well.

Here goes nothing, he thought. He threw open the hatch and went in. he thought. He threw open the hatch and went in.

He was only a few steps down the ladder when something dropped onto him. It struck his shoulder, and he had a glimpse of it before it wrapped itself around his face. It consisted of a human head, stretched and rubbery, on a network of tendrils. It immediately started to smother him.

He couldn't see. He tried to bat it off with the plasma cutter, but it simply wrapped its tendrils tighter. He banged it against the rungs of the ladder, but it still wouldn't let go. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, he thought, he thought, I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

Blindly, his hand found the trigger of the cutter and started it up. He raised it slowly, trying not to cut through his own face and succeeded in nearly cutting all the way through the side rail of the ladder. He was beginning to black out. He tried again, closer to the face this time and felt the blade go through the creature's flesh. It loosened its grip and he shook it off, watching it bounce off the rung just in front of him and tumble down.

The worst part about it was that as it fell, he recognized the face. It was stretched and red, severely deformed, but he was sure it had belonged to Field. As he watched it strike the rungs below him and then spiral down, it was like he had killed Field himself.

He caught his breath and then continued descending.

The emergency lighting cast shadows everywhere. He kept seeing things moving in them. He heard a noise, at a little distance, then closer. Something was slithering up the side of the ladder. He looked down and tried to see it, but saw nothing. He stayed still, listening, but heard nothing. Maybe I'm just imagining it, Maybe I'm just imagining it, he thought. he thought.

But when he took another step, he heard it again, and looking down he caught a brief glimpse of the same sort of sinewy pulsing thing that had popped Field's head off. And then it disappeared, was on the other side of the ladder. He tried to get around to see it and caught a brief glimpse and then lost it again. The sound, though, was closer now.

He wrapped one arm around the ladder and hung there, waiting. Where was it? Where was it?

And then suddenly he saw it, just a few feet below him now, its gray body blending in with the ladder. As he watched, one end of it left the ladder and started wavering like a charmed snake, looking for flesh to grab on to. And then suddenly it whipped up and wrapped around his foot.

It wrapped itself tight and hard, almost dislodging him, leaving him hanging by one arm, legs dangling in the air. He tried to swing the plasma cutter down to saw it off, but it was too low-he'd have to let go to get down to it, which would mean falling. It had started pulsing, tightening, and then began working itself up his ankle and onto his leg. Struggling for a foothold with the other leg, he finally managed to find it. He lifted himself on his toes as far as he could go, the ankle feeling like it might tear off, and swung his arm loose, grabbing hold again a few rungs down. That was enough; he could reach now. He sawed it in half with the plasma cutter. Ichor jetted from it, and then it fell.

Feeling dizzy, he clung on tight. He might have stayed like that forever except his head, pressed against the ladder's siderail, heard a dull pounding. Something else was coming. Still dizzy, he looked down. Two others were already starting up the ladder, these more humanoid, the kind with scythes sprouting out of their shoulders. They held on to the ladder with the tiny hands sprouting from their bellies, their scythes waving madly back and forth as they climbed.

He climbed frantically up, back the way he had come, trying to get to the level ground of the platform, knowing all the time that they were gaining on him. He could almost feel their scythes slicing up and taking off his legs.

Then suddenly he was at the top, on his knees and panting. He slung the cutter's strap over his back and let it hang, pulling the chain saw around. Precariously balanced, he tugged on the rip cord. The first time it didn't catch, nor the second time. The first one was already there, the tips of its scythes visible over the edge of the platform, its head just coming into view. He tore the rip cord back hard, and this time it caught. He revved it and then leaned down and pushed it into the creature. The chain blade whipped the blood in all directions, spattering him from head to toe.

He stepped off the ladder, the chain saw sputtering in his hands. Were there others? It was a big room, poorly lit.

He moved cautiously toward the pa.s.sage to the labs that would lead him down to the airlock. There were spills of flesh here and there around the walls, near the vents. Living, it seemed. He prodded one with his boot, but it didn't seem to respond, just sat there. He stamped on it, but it didn't seem injured by that either.

He was almost to the door of the lab when it came, rushing at him with an almost unholy cry. In the darkness and shadows, he had a hard time seeing it at first; it was just a blur. He revved the chain saw, trying to keep the blade between him and it, and struck it full in the head.

It was the most terrible of the beasts he had seen so far. It backed quickly away, hissing. Its jaw was distended, its teeth having grown long and predatory, the flesh having torn all the way back to the hinge. Its arms had become forelegs, its body thickening in the front and narrowing in the back. It had a single, overly muscled leg in the back, the other leg stretched and emaciated and lashing like a tail, the thinned toes fanned out and flexing at the tail's top.

It took a few steps sideways, then gathered itself and leaped. He tried to take its head off with the chain saw but was only partly through when the chain caught on something chitinous and the weapon was torn from his hands, almost dislocating his shoulder. The neck pulsed and spat fluids over his chest, the head leaning to one side and still snarling. The forelegs scratched and tore at him. He groped for the chain saw but couldn't get to it, wasn't certain that he'd be able to get it started again anyway. He kicked the creature back and it circled slowly, its head hanging like a loose sack, before springing again. Blinded, it struck just a little to the left of him, smashing into the wall. He was already scrambling up, trying to get the plasma cutter into his hands and turned on. It knocked him down and into the sickly smelling tissue that covered the deck and then reared back, looming over him. He rolled to one side but couldn't avoid its claws tearing through his shirt and the shoulder beneath, pinning one arm down.

And then suddenly he had the cutter on. He struck once hard, tearing off the foreleg pinning him. It balanced awkwardly over him on its remaining two limbs. He chopped into the other foreleg and it crashed down.

He pushed it back and stumbled away, the shoulder really starting to ache now. He circled it slowly, waiting for a moment to dart in and cut the last leg when it did a curious thing: it got its remaining leg planted but rather than using it to leap at him as Altman expected, it flipped the whole body over, landing it on its legtail. It stayed there motionless, perfectly balanced, the last leg contracted back, like the leg of a dead arachnid. It must be dead, It must be dead, Altman thought. Altman thought.

He came cautiously forward, but it didn't move. Carefully, he reached out and touched it with the edge of the cutter, and the leg sprang out hard, catching him in the chest and hurling him back against the wall.

He lay there for a moment, stunned. His chest felt like it'd been caved in. Slowly he sat up. The creature was still there, still balanced on its tail, its one remaining leg contracted again.

f.u.c.k it, he thought. Gathering his weapons, he circled around it, giving it a wide berth, and made for the door. he thought. Gathering his weapons, he circled around it, giving it a wide berth, and made for the door.