All the little lost boys and girls (Update: 26/5/12)

[LadyTevar]

Well, that actually explains a lot. It seems the only thing not trying to kill Our Heroes at this point is the air filter...

That's because the air-filter is broken. However, if you recall, the air VENTS are in active use as highways and byways for the inhabitants of the Drop.

[Sky Captain]

Oh no. Station's AI is gone insane. Now with the jamming strength reduced station's AI will be able to track down remaining survivors and send hordes of monsters after them.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Oh no. Station's AI is gone insane. Now with the jamming strength reduced station's AI will be able to track down remaining survivors and send hordes of monsters after them.

Insane? Well, arguably, an old Imperium AI might possibly have a legitimate bone to pick (ha!) with these Coalition types.

[Night_stalker]

Sheesh, what ISN'T trying to kill off our heroes? I thought Boatsmurdered was hell, but this takes the freaking cake! Nice job, and maybe they can get lucky and find a old armory or something?

[Bladed_Crescent]

That's not good. Maybe the jammer was a good thing, since now the station will be trying to kill them.

Well, that actually explains a lot. It seems the only thing not trying to kill Our Heroes at this point is the air filter...

Oh no. Station's AI is gone insane. Now with the jamming strength reduced station's AI will be able to track down remaining survivors and send hordes of monsters after them.

Insane? Well, arguably, an old Imperium AI might possibly have a legitimate bone to pick (ha!) with these Coalition types.

Sheesh, what ISN'T trying to kill off our heroes?

A very Bioshock-esque moment, that. For some reason, I can't help but imagine the voice of DROP 47 being that of Sander Cohen.

Heh; one of my friends said it reminded her of Dr. Steinman. In honesty, neither of those came to mind while I was writing that scene.

...you have a Coalition that's even more frightening than DROP 47. Easier to understand, but more frightening in the longer run.

One that's been referred to in the past tense, mind. There's a reason for that, one which will be addressed in-text. It's not a really huge plot point, but it's just easier to have it in one place.

Yes, I'm a bastard.

[Bladed_Crescent]

In this chapter, Shannon doubts the authenticity of certain claims and the Watcher makes their move.

Coming up (provided I don't change horses in mid-stream): a week in the life of DROP 47 during its heyday.

Chapter 23:

“Bullshit,” Shannon blurted. “We’ve talked to the station.”

“Oh. Ah, yes. I forgot about that,” the voice replied. “Well, I suppose you can’t blame me for trying. Oh, how they twitch when you tell them that.” The Speaker’s voice turned svelte and sharp. “It appears we’ve got a quick thinking little worm wriggling around in my belly. I think you’ll do nicely.”

“Do nicely for what?”

The Speaker ignored her. “And the rest of you thieves... clever worms indeed to make it this far. Yes, you’ll all do.”

“We’re glad you approve,” Abigail bit out.

“I don’t,” the Speaker snapped. “You’re trespassers, sent by jackals to rummage through my guts like parasites. You’ve broken our things, defiled our territory and you’re going to pay for it. But you are clever.”

“You talk about this station like it’s yours,” Emily said. “It isn’t.”

“Near enough.”

“Not hardly,” Abigail replied. “You claim to be 47 but you’re just meat and bone, like everything else here. You’re just some little prick with a comm.” Her helmet came up. “Don’t worry, honey. Mommy’ll find you. She’ll take real good care of you.”

“Don’t bother,” Shannon told her teammate. “He’s not worth talking to.”

“Oh, I think I can handle a crazy asshole with a mike right now,” Abigail replied.

“I mean, he’s not asking anything about us,” Shannon said. “Nothing he hasn’t answered himself. He doesn’t care to ask us like this. He’s trying to stall us. Probably so his friends can get here and then he’ll ask. That’s what he wants. To keep us fixed on him and his little games until it’s too late.”

“It’s not wise to be that clever, little worm,” the Speaker growled.

This time, it was Shannon who ignored him. “We’re moving out,” she announced. “We’re not giving them any more time to come at us.”

“You’re going to die,” the Speaker hissed, the thin veneer of his civility vanishing. “You’ll die screaming and begging. On your knees, on your backs or crawling on your bellies, pleading for just one more day. We’ll find you, before any of the others do. We’ll find you and we’ll have you, little worms. Where do you think you’ll run to? This is 47. This is Acheron. You can’t get out. You can’t call for help. You’re here, the same as us. We will find you and we’ll pick your bones. You think you’ll survive? You’re fools. There’s no one coming for you, no one but the hunters or the eyes in the dark. No one is going to save you. But we’re here, oh yes we are. And you’ll die.”

“Enough from you,” Abigail drew her pistol and pointed it at the nearest intercom. “Mommy spank.” She pulled the trigger.

~

Laughter filled the room, quickly decaying into raspy, wheezing coughs. After a moment, both subsided. A wrinkled finger brushed a tear away from a flaking cheek. “Oh, that was quite priceless. The little moth certainly has vigour. You’ve made an impression on the Masks. I don’t think they’ve had anyone who didn’t cower appropriately for them since... well, for a long time. Yes, little moth, you are a peach.”

A yellow fingernail tapped against a console. “You’re still headed to the flames, though. But not the way you should be.” Eyes shifted to another display: a man was being held off the ground, legs kicking futilely, arms clawing at obsidian vambraces as fingers tightened around his throat. “No, not the way at all. They’re trying to find all of you, and I don’t think they’ll be happy until they do. That’s no good, no good at all. For anyone.”

A chair squeaked as it was pushed back from the wall, dry fingers lacing together. “I was going to just leave your bodies for them, but I’ve been listening, you know. Yes, yes. I think you can help me,” a dry, reedy voice continued its one-sided conversation as a gnarled finger tapped against a blurred image. “Especially you. But for that, I need you alive. For now. So I’m going to give you to the ferals. So you can stay alive. Until I need you. Then they can have you and everything can go back to the way it was. Which is what we all want, isn’t it? Yes, of course.

“Now, if you’d be so kind, head outside so we can greet one another properly, would you? That would be ever so nice. I know my sweetheart has just been dying to finally meet you. She’s not what she used to be you understand, but she still knows a trick or two.”

~

Can you hear me, Calvin?

Meyers twitched; he thought he’d heard Godfrey. He paused in the hall, but there was only the deafening silence of the station around him.

I’m coming for you.

There it was again-!

He spun, the flush of panic making the action far more clumsy that it should have been. He expected to see the gleam of Jane’s disruptor coming up the passageway, or the Ghost’s pale grey armour striding out of the shadows. His heart was pounding in his chest, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for her. The seconds stretched into painful, wracking minutes, but the corridor remained silent, empty and dark.

You can feel me, can’t you, Calvin? Behind you.

He whirled around with a hoarse, startled cry, the barrel of his cannon spinning, half a second away from showering the corridor with explosive, armour-piercing rounds. Still nothing. Get a grip, Meyers, he told himself. You’re starting to jump at shadows now. Keep it together; there are people counting on you. “Yeah,” he said to himself. “Yeah, I can keep it together. That’s what I’ll do. I have to... I have to make sure everyone’s okay. Colonel put me charge for a reason. So that’s what I’ll do. You hear that, Jane? I’ve got a mission.”

So do I, he thought he heard her say. Finding you.

~

Louis fed the last of the handful of shotgun cartridges he’d found into the weapon. “Plan?”

“We don’t do what they expect us to do,” Shannon replied. With this one jammer down, they were back on the radio. Despite Abigail’s provocative display, North Engineering had a lot for comms for the Speaker to listen in on them.

“And what’s that?”

“Fall back the same way we came in, through the cleared areas. They’ll have teams set up to catch us as soon as we break out that way. One level up, the coreward doors open to a corridor with an avenue that leads back to another tram station. It gives engineering access to large equipment and supplies. We can get to it, call the car. It’s exposed, but we won’t be penned up in the hallways. If there’s fighting, it’s going to draw more of those things. I’d rather not get caught between two fires.”

Louis nodded. “I’m with you.” And if that station was down, it would be a relatively short, straight hike back up the tunnel. Little cover, but it would let the mercenaries have the benefit of range and their body armour. He’d had it with close-in fighting.

“Good to know; you’ve got the shotgun, so you’re on point. Let’s move.”

~

As soon as they left engineering, the overhead glowpanels came alive and began flashing like a dance club’s strobe lights, the rapid shifts between light and dark confounding the mercs’ blacklight vision. Their autosenses were unable to compensate for the constant, abrupt changes between light and dark and they were soon forced to turn them off, though the flashing lights still strained their eyes and slowed their progress. making it difficult to know what was hiding in the shadows.

“Looks like they’ve got some clever worms of their own,” Abigail commented as she broke a primitive spear-thrower, one of several traps protecting this route into the engineering complex. “Let’s go step on them.”

It wasn’t an attempt at wit that had driven the Darkknell’s comment, but an honest admission of her desire for violence. Despite her moments of levity and the affection she showed for her friends and ‘Shannie’, there was a part of the woman that reveled in brutality and this aspect would occasionally slip out. Letting it loose around her friends was the one thing that seemed to frighten Abigail. Whenever it slipped with her erstwhile sister, the Darkknell seemed ashamed, as if it was something that she didn’t want her ‘little sister’ to know about. Shannon was willing to play along, to let Abby think she’d never noticed, though both of them knew otherwise. It was the illusion that mattered and now was no different. “You’re getting better at your one-liners,” Shannon observed, trying to lighten the mood

Luckily, Abigail took the bait, eager to make the comment seem like a corny witticism instead of what it really was. “I know, right? After all this, I’ll have sufficient dry wit to make it as an action hero in the vids.”

Ramone mumbled something under his breath as he stepped over the remains of the spear-thrower. “I heard that,” Abigail grunted.

“So what? None of us are going to get out of here! It’s fine for you three to talk tactics, but you’ve got guns and armour – we don’t have either of those. And now we’re going to get attacked by... by more feral people! There could be dozens of them.”

When they’d first been getting to know one another, Shannon had taught Abigail one of the children’s languages from Halo, a sign language that the two of them had shared for private jokes and comments. Now the private’s fingers moved. We need him?

Yes, Shannon emphatically signed back. “Salvador.” She used his first name, catching his attention. “I know this situation isn’t the best,” she repeated the rhetoric in spirit, if not line-for-line. “But we’re doing the best we can. You’re going to have to trust us. If we can’t stick together, we’re only going to die alone.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “This isn’t want you signed on for. I know. None of us expected this. But we have to – we have to – be willing to work with each other. We’re not going to leave you or Emily behind. We’re not going to knowingly expose you to danger. But we are going to have to take risks. There’s no way around that. So you can accept that and stay with us, or try to make it on your own. But this sniping has to stop.”

Ramone looked like he was going to protest further, but simply nodded, averting his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It just...” he scratched at the back of his head. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“Good. Let’s keep moving, then.”

~

Blood dripped down the bulkhead, pooling on the floor around the body of a newcomer. He had had no useful information, nothing more than panicked gibbering and prayers to ancestors. Another soft weakling, not even a challenge. But it had still been pleasurable.

-hunting and killing, as it should be-

The New Ones were scattered and helpless. Easily found. Easily killed. It was too easy to lapse into arrogance and expect them all to be this way, cowering and soiling themselves. It was the cairn that did this. It was Umbra and the Veil. Outside it, things were much different. Father had told them that. That was why they stayed here, where it was safe.

-crack open their ribs and tear their lungs-

The Old Ones had known, of course. How could they not? And the Old Ones hadn’t forgotten. But that was all right. Neither had they. And one day, they would make sure the Old Ones remembered everything. The birth was just another step in that journey, but one that had to be made all the same.

-sow panic and destruction, fire and ruination-

The cry had been silenced – all that was left was to wipe out the rest of the New Ones. Then everything would be as it should.

Until the next time.

-blood-

~

“Motion!” Abigail announced. “Multiple hostiles, many bearings.”

Shannon raised her pistol, staring down a side corridor. Nothing. “Lock it down, Three.”

“Trying, Four. Too much interference from the superstructure. It’s scattering the readings. I can’t sort substance from signal.”

They started to howl. A rolling, ululating chorus of screams that seemed to fill every corridor, echo around every corner. Rising and falling like some maddened predator’s cry, intended to flush its prey into the open where the pack could bring it down.

“Where are they?” Louis shouted. “I don’t have a sighting!”

“There!” Emily shouted, pointing. Through the flashes of the strobing overhead lights, she could just make out movement. A lot of movement. “On the left!”

“From the right!” Louis shouted. “More bogeys!”

We tripped an alarm when we entered engineering, Shannon realized. There was no other way this many people could have gotten here that fast. The unnerving calls continued as the ferals marched towards them; Shannon could just make out odd shapes in their hands, but she otherwise couldn’t tell if they had guns or simple clubs and cleavers. The silhouettes of their heads were wrong; some wore helmets, others had other headgear, but that was all she could tell of them at the moment. They continued to march towards the survivors, not even bothering to take shelter or use cover. The chorus of shrieks grew louder, more disorganized as the horde worked themselves up into a berserker fury.

Then without warning, the cries abruptly stopped. The ferals stopped in their tracks. Through the flashing lights, Shannon could make out rebreathers and theatrical masks staring back at them, wide salivating grins beneath them. Arms shivered in anticipation, and she could see some of the swarm shift position, recognizing the telltale flickers of motion that meant they were tensing up, about to charge. “Three – our route to the tram?”

“I think it’s still clear, Four.”

“On three, then. Everyone, ready? Good. One... two... three!”

They broke and ran, only a handful of seconds ahead of the berserker screams as their attackers charged on their heels, piling through the hallways in a baying, frothing swarm just as Primal’s crew had overrun Delta Squad.

Louis dropped back to cover Emily and Ramone; Shannon heard the crash of his shotgun. Ahead, Abigail leapt over a blocking crate and slid over the floor, knocking several steel-jawed traps out of the way, the devices prematurely snapping shut as Abby’s booted feet kicked them aside. The Darkknell rolled to her feet, hunkering down behind the crate and fired a burst from her carbine. Someone shrieked in pain.

Something sharp whistled by Shannon’s ear as she vaulted the box, helping Emily and Ramone across in turn. A bullet flattened against Hernandez’s backplate as the merc dove over the cargo pallet. He thumped Abigail on the shoulder and she fell back. Louis followed a moment later, the survivors racing to the tram station as Hell itself clamoured behind them.

~

“And... there you are,” a tongue ran over cracked lips. “Got you.”

~

Shannon wasn’t the first to notice it – the sudden disorientation and loss of balance, the telltale distortion in the air, like heat rising off a desert road – but she was the first to recognize what it meant. The cry of warning was pulled out of her throat as she slammed into the floor, her own shout lost amidst the sudden squawks of confusion and fear as Emily and Ramone went down ahead of her, thudding to the floor.

Abby saw what was happening, but couldn’t stop herself in time; she fell to her hands and knees, howling in rage and pain like an animal herself as she struggled against the pull of the malfunctioning grav plates, eventually collapsing to the deck. As the rearguard, Louis didn’t even have that chance; his attention fully on their pursuers, he went down with a short, shocked cry.

Shannon gritted her teeth, trying to force herself up, but it felt as if the life was being crushed out of her. Augmented muscles strained against the pull, but it kept increasing. “Stop fighting,” a new voice broke into her channel. “I don’t want to kill you. But you have to stop.” She didn’t even hear him, only recognizing another damned enemy in the man’s words and she screamed, a wordless cry of anger and despair as the strength went out of her and she let herself lay there, pinned and helpless.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the ferals pause at the end of the field. One strode out of the group and Shannon’s eyes widened. He wore an ill-fitting suit of armour, intended for someone shorter and bulkier than he. It was Artemis armour, dented and beaten. One side of the helmet had been buckled inwards and cracks radiated across the visor. One the left temple, there was a serial number and name:

100-745-4356-12
St. Cloud.

Abigail must have noticed it too, because the Darkknell roared; there was no other word for that kind of sound, one so fierce that it caused two of their pursuers to startle and back away. But not the man in the armour. He crouched down at the edge of the grav field and though she couldn’t see his face, Shannon could hear the smile in his voice as he looked over at his followers. “Fortune favours the children.” He leaned towards Shannon. “On your knees, your backs or your bellies. You were told. Now, little worms... now you’re ours.”

[Night_stalker]

They're screwed

[Themightytom]

They're screwed

I know! I feel so bad for the horror they are about to experience.



Really shouldn't have taken St. Cloud's armor.

[LadyTevar]

Wow... nasty little trap. For right now, the "Wizard" wants them alive, and thinks the Ferals will protect them fro as long as he needs them.

[The Vortex Empire]

They're dead. The ferals, not the good guys.

No wait, maybe some of the good guys too.

[Sky Captain]

That was fast, another update

Now our heroes are screwed, there is no way they are going to escape when artificial gravity is under control of those things.

[White Haven]

I'm getting the feeling that it's not so much under control as a known hazard. They knew the agrav was screwy in one area, so they funneled their prey into it, deliberately giving them time to run.

Now why is another, doubtless far more disturbing story.

[The Vortex Empire]

That was fast, another update

Now our heroes are screwed, there is no way they are going to escape when artificial gravity is under control of those things.

They're captured, yes, but not screwed. It wouldn't make sense for the story to just end with all of them dying right now. The author's not that evil and twisted.

[Night_stalker]

Are you sure we're talking about the right author here?

[The Vortex Empire]

Yeah. He might kill a couple of them, but not all of them. It's too soon.

[Darth Nostril]

Well it wasn't until you started tempting fate with blanket statements like that.

[Night_stalker]

Great, now they're all going to die.

[The Vortex Empire]

All according to plan.

[Themightytom]

Yeah. He might kill a couple of them, but not all of them. It's too soon.

Well killing Shannon would be a waste, as would Abigail, but the other ones are red shirt wearing lunchables.

[Bladed_Crescent]

They're screwed

Ferals Do It As A Mob

...yes, that was a pun made in poor taste.

Really shouldn't have taken St. Cloud's armor.

They're dead. The ferals, not the good guys.

Did I mention Abigail's a Peter Russell fan?

"Someone a gonna get a hurt real bad. Someone. I won't say who, but I think you might know him very well..."

Wow... nasty little trap.

You'd be surprised what you can whip with with duct tape...

For right now, the "Wizard" wants them alive, and thinks the Ferals will protect them fro as long as he needs them.

The Watcher doesn't so much think that the ferals will protect them as that the ferals just won't kill them... right away.

Now our heroes are screwed, there is no way they are going to escape when artificial gravity is under control of those things.

Two points to consider:
1) the Watcher's control of it is obviously not absolute, since he had to wait for for them to get to a place that the malfunctioning AI had access to.
2) who said it was?

The author's not that evil and twisted.

'Oh ho,' he says with a thin smile. 'A challenge.'

Are you sure we're talking about the right author here?

See, he knows what's what.

I mean... uh... of course, I'm not that evil and twisted! And that admission in court was just part of the plea agreement!

Well killing Shannon would be a waste, as would Abigail, but the other ones are red shirt wearing lunchables.

'Oh ho,' he says with a thin smile. 'A challenge.'

[Bladed_Crescent]

In this chapter, some secrets and hints. Everett Hayes takes his time on DROP 47 one day at a time. Some are better than others.

Coming up: Shannon learns something about herself and the term 'physician, heal thyself' is shown to have its limits.

"You promised me pretty, doctor! You promised you'd make me pretty!"


Chapter 24:

Then:

Sunday:

“Hold him down!”

“You can’t stop it!” Junior researcher Adam Badoab screamed, froth spewing from his mouth as he struggled against the orderlies. “You can’t! It’s coming! It’s coming and you can’t stop it, all of you! Any of you! Get away from me! Don’t put that poison in me! I see you! Whispering, plotting against me! You can’t do this! I won’t let you! Get off of me! I’ll kill you all, I swear I will!”

The man fought against the medical personnel holding him down, pink spittle spraying from his mouth as he shrieked at them, cursing and howling paranoid epithets and imprecations.

“I’ve seen enough, Vigil,” Everett Hayes said to the station’s AI. “Shut it down.”

The screen blipped off obediently. Hayes drummed his fingers against the desk. Badoab had been one of the crew assigned to studying the first Obelisk, one of the team tasked with extracting the ‘sliver’. His was not the most extreme case, either. The head of the team, Li Chang, had been found dead in her quarters two days ago. She’d hung herself. Her suicide note had been two words.

No escape.

~

Monday:

She made a crackling buzz, trying to get his attention.

Everett looked up. “What?”

Her eyes were on the half-eaten chocolate bar in his right hand, ignored as his left frantically scribbled down notes on a datapad. She licked her lips.

He smiled. “Is this what you want?”

A vociferous nod, paired with a long, low mewl.

He regarded the candy seriously for a few moments, then looked back at her. “You know what you have to do for it.”

She made a gesture that wasn’t – quite – severe enough to be a snap, but the click of her teeth against each other was still audible and it was still a display of aggression. Everett simply waited. Finally, her mouth worked for a moment: “May I have some?” Each word was pronounced carefully, making sure she got them right. Her struggles with language weren’t because she was unintelligent or incapable of grasping the concept – neither was true.

She and her sister were the oldest, both of them ‘born’ (if you could call it that) before he’d arrived on 47. Any developmental psychologist could tell you that there was a critical period in a young child’s mental growth for learning speech. The previous research team hadn’t worked hard enough with her and her sister during that vital window, seeing them as just another step towards a ‘final, finished product’. Even the rest of the ‘line’ were considered with that same dismissive mindset.

Which was probably why the staff and security in section I had had the highest rates of injury and death. At least, until Hayes had taken over. Schadenfreude, perhaps. But he wasn’t quite civilized enough not to still feel some level of satisfaction about his accomplishments in that regard. However, he did like to think that how far they’d come since his arrival was more of a testament to them than anything he’d done. They were clever. Very feral (and he knew who to thank for that and why), but intelligent. Aggressive, yes. Inquisitive, yes. Curious. Eager. Even playful. Like a cat with a mouse, but still.

“Are you going to share this with your sister?”

She made a dismissive fft sound.

Everett arched an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Her eyes darted down to the floor, then back up to his face. “Yes,” she acquiesced.

“Okay,” he handed her the candy. She reached for it, snatching it out of his hands and scurried off, calling for her sibling.

Everett smiled, watching as the two of them growled and feinted at each other, trying to decide how to decide on an equitable distribution of the chocolate. Truth be told, he wasn’t fond of the stuff himself. But it gave him an excuse to slip them a little treat now and then. He looked back at his notes, noting with satisfaction the last line of the paragraph.

...no sign of neurological disorder.

~

Tuesday:

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Hayes looked over at Black. The F-division department head had been acting increasingly erratic these past few weeks, but this appeared to be one of his calmer periods. Everett would have liked to say that it was just the stress of the situation getting to the Terran, but that would only be denial playing at reason. Hayes had noted significant behavioural changes in several other staff members – not just those on the initial contact team. Increasingly short tempers and trouble sleeping were the most common symptoms. Difficulty focusing, paranoia and, finally, self-destructive acts and/or violence.

Even among the more... unpleasant DROPs, 47’s reputation had always made it stand out. Hayes had looked over the medical files; the station had the highest rate of mental disorders out of all the Imperium’s installations. The highest rate of drug prescriptions, medical leaves and personnel reassignments. That had always been blamed on the claustrophobic feel of the Mists and 47’s extreme isolation. Everett wasn’t so sure. In fact, he knew for a fact that it wasn’t.

In the past 4 years, there had been 17 murders, six suicides and 78 cases of assault, ranging from battery to sexual. In comparison, a similar DROP – 82 – had had three deaths in the same span of time, and two of those were accidents. 82 was another Elysium, and almost as isolated as 47. There was something about 47, something no one had wanted to admit existed even as it ate away at them, bit by bit. Something that they were prepared to ignore because of its value.

That had changed with the retrieval of the ‘sliver’. Now, everyone had a better idea of what was happening, but they still ignored it – Earth’s need was too great. The Imperials were willing to pay any price to sate that need – their friends, their minds. Their souls.

“Isn’t it?” Justin prompted again.

Everett looked down at the focus of Black’s attention. The ‘sliver’. A fragment hewn from a dead god’s bones. Surrounded by machines and researchers, it dwarfed them all. Despite the lights shining on it, it was like staring into impenetrable shadows, as if its surface simply swallowed the light whole, radiating darkness in its place. Bound like a living thing, probed by scanners, analyzed and examined endlessly in an effort to force it to divulge its secrets. Hayes felt his skin crawl. It wasn’t the terror of the unknown; he knew what this thing was. What it did, what it was doing even now. And what harnessing it would mean. ‘Victory’ was what some said. The people who either didn’t think of, or didn’t care about the consequences.

And another piece of their souls was swallowed by Acheron.

He thought he could hear it. Sometimes it was a low, throbbing pulse, pounding softly but relentlessly within his skull. Other times it was like listening to the skritch-scratch of mice in the walls, rustling and clicking as they swarmed through an old, rotten house. Occasionally, it felt like trying to listen to a crowd that was constantly whispering to each other. A nonstop babble of voices and the more he tried to focus on them, the fainter they grew, receding into the corners of his mind. When his attention wavered, they slipped to the fore, babbling in hushed tones, speaking of terrible things.

“Yes, Justin,” Hayes agreed, hoping that Black did not see the lie in his eyes, the revulsion in them. “It is.” He stared into the darkness of the sliver’s form and wondered, not for the first time, if there was something in that abyss that was staring back.

~

Wednesday:

“I’ve been looking through your reports,” Jung said around a mouthful of food. When Hayes had arrived, Jung had been thin and energetic. Now he was rarely seen without something to eat close at hand. “And I’m pleased by how well the sevens are doing.”

“Thank you, sir,” Everett replied as the general stuck one greasy hand back into a bag of snacks. The scientist waited for the inevitable follow-up question, dreading it.

“How long until we can deploy them?”

There it was. Hayes took a breath, mind racing. He’d run through this conversation a hundred times in his head, thought up a thousand different answers to Jung’s question. Ways to phrase it, to soften the blow, to misdirect or obfuscate. Instead, he opted for simplicity. “Years,” he said, making it as direct as possible.

Jung froze, staring at Hayes for a moment. “Years,” the military man repeated carefully.

“Yes, sir. At least seven.”

“Seven.” Jung tapped his fingers against his desk. “Has it occurred to you, doctor, that Earth might not have seven years?”

“I know, sir. But I also know that you and your superiors want a product that works,” he gently stressed the last word. Despite his expanding waistline and increasingly incendiary temper, Jung was still an intelligent man. Hayes could appeal to that. “That’s why you brought me on board. 47’s previous attempts to get the... product line operational were all disastrous failures.” That was putting it mildly. In the year before he’d arrived, five “workplace-related fatalities” and nine severe injuries were the result of previous researchers’ bungling.

“I have your reports right here,” Jung noted, calling up a screen. “You note that series-7 hasn’t shown any adverse reactions to ‘ambient conditions’ and their ability to learn proceeds at – what did you say? Ah, yes – ‘ a phenomenal, almost frightening pace’.” He leaned forward. “Why aren’t they ready?”

Everett noticed the tone in the general’s voice. “Physiologically, they’re still children,” he reminded the officer. “And if you recall, each attempt at using maturation chambers to increase their rate of growth ended in disaster.”

“But by your own words, series 7 is the most stable,” Jung protested. He didn’t like Hayes’ assessments, but he wasn’t prepared to challenge them too strenuously, especially when he knew the doctor was right.

“True. But that determination is relative. Before the late Senior Researcher Kraczynski tried the same procedure with the sixes, she’d declared them to be the most stable.” Unsaid: And we know what happened to her.

Jung rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Earth isn’t going to like this, Hayes. The whole point of the project was to-”

“With respect sir, I know what the goals of the project are,” Hayes interjected. “I also understand Earth’s need and that they may chose to override your own decisions in this matter. However, I stand by my assessment: they’re not ready.” He paused. First the stick, then the carrot. “However, I have developed something that I believe will be useful in the interim.”

Jung’s face had darkened significantly during Hayes speech, but at the Halo’s last words, he blinked in surprise. “You have?”

“Yes, sir.” Everett handed the man a flimsi. “It’s only preliminary research – I haven’t had the oppurtunity to really iron out the kinks – but it’s based on their neurophysiology. I believe I’ve isolated one factor that makes them so resistant to F-type contamination. With a little work, it should be possible to develop an ‘inoculation’ of sorts for our personnel. While the sevens themselves may not be ready, this will allow the other teams to speed up their research on the Obelisks and – possibly – even increase access to Umbra itself.”

The general skimmed through the research notes, nodding. “This does seem to have some promise, Everett. I’ll get Black’s group to look over it. If there is something here, this will go a long way to mollifying my superiors on Earth. Good work.”

“Thank you, sir. I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t wasting my time.”

“Never crossed my mind,” Jung smiled. Both of them knew that had accusation had been coming if Hayes hadn’t delivered something. “Good work, doctor. I’ll let you get back to your kids.” He chuckled.

~

Thursday:

“It’s a mess, Ev,” The head of station security, ‘chief’ Gundis Alvadotter, said as she shovelled food into her mouth. “Everything’s getting worse and I can’t seem to be able to do anything to stop it.”

Everett nodded, watching with the usual morbid fascination as his companion’s lunch vanished at a staggering pace. Unlike General Jung, there was no trace of additional weight to be found on Gundis’ honed, muscular figure. The woman was a Ferskt, or ‘New Nord’. Like Halo, Ferskt had been settled by a colony intending to use genetic engineering to better their population. However, (as every Halo school child was taught) Halo’s Primaries had done so in order to create a beacon of peace and enlightenment by increasing its people’s intellect, rationality and reason.

Ferskt’s ‘Opprinneligs’ had wanted something else entirely: to conquer. To breed a race of super-soldiers. Only they hadn’t done as such a good job as the Primaries had. Despite that, many Ferskt alterations were similar to the adjustments the Primaries had made, but there were differences. For example, Ferskt levels of aggression were much higher than human standard. All too frequently, Ferskts were seen much as rabid dogs straining at the leash. And with an unfortunate frequency, this assessment was correct; Ferskts would occasionally react with out-of-proportion violence to minimal provocation. Many cultures stereotyped the New Nords as mindless, frothing maniacs, but Everett had found ‘chief’ Alvadotter to be thoughtful, intelligent and quite charming.

Even if she did require a prescription of mood-stabilizing drugs to keep her innate aggressive tendencies in check.

“What do you mean?” Everett inquired politely, sprinkling some salt over his own meal. Like all Ferskts, Gundis’s increased metabolism’s demands meant that a single meal was often large enough to feed a small family. Halo metabolism was higher than normal, but more fluid; in harsh conditions it could be depressed (though with an accompanying slower rate of activity) while in favourable situations, it would rise. Hayes had never really liked the comparison to similar changes in deep-ocean fish, but it was an apt one.

“Don’t be coy with me, Ev,” Gundis said, pointing her fork at him. “You know precisely what I’m talking about. What nobody else is talking about. Ever since Chang and her team brought that little piece of so-secret-you’ll-have-to-shoot-yourself-for-thinking-about-it back to 47, my job has been getting a lot harder. Incidents have tripled and this is only the tip of the iceberg. And this latest horseshit from Black...”

Everett raised an eyebrow. “What’s Justin done now?”

“Oh, nothing. He just wants us to pack anyone who bugs out off to section F for ‘observation and treatment’.” Disgustedly, Gundis tossed her ‘scroll over to Hayes, snapping up another two mouthful of food. “The only treatment I know for buggers is getting them the Hell off this station. That is why we’ve got so many new boots constantly hitting the deck, even with the war sucking up manpower, right? Now, you tell me how keeping them here does them any good?” She sighed. “I mean, I’m going to run out of holding cells sooner or later and I suppose that having them so close to the division that investigates this kind of thing is good, but...”

Hayes nodded, only partly listening as he scanned through the memo Black had sent to Alvadotter. DROP 47 did have a relatively high turnover rate so people who caught ‘the bug’ could be shipped out as soon as possible. Although this seemed like a security breach waiting to happen, Imperial Intelligence was noted for its effectiveness with good reason (very good reason in fact). So far the Coalition remained blissfully unaware of the existence of DROP 47, despite its constant need for fresh, clear-headed troops. “It’s possible Justin wants to run trials of my new inoculation on affected personnel,” he mused.

Gundis shook her head. “I’m telling you, Ev – Black needs to be watched. He worries me. And Constanza... that last little security breach of hers cost me two heads.”

“I thought Samuels wasn’t that badly hurt?”

“Well, if you don’t count losing an arm. But yeah, you’re right. Constanza cleared her and Medical says the regeneration’s going well, but she’s still heading out when Razorback pulls in again. Can’t say I blame her. I never thought I’d say this, but your division is actually coming in last in incidents amongst the big three.” Alvadotter chuckled grimly. “Whatever you’re doing in there, keep it up.”

~

Friday:

Everett sat in the darkened observation lounge, slowly drumming his fingers against the plush arm of the sofa. “It’s not enough,” he said into the silence. “I know it isn’t.”

Then what do I do? The Imperium stands between Halo and the Coalition and the Imperium might not win without Umbra. God help me, what do I do? I can’t let this happen – can I? What can I... No, no that’s insane. Criminal. I can’t. My world... it could die. I have to focus on that. Nothing else matters.

He remembered their faces, bright and eager, whenever he entered their habitat. It was his work that had let them make it this far. Earlier researchers hadn’t thought of – or had simply ignored – what had seemed so simple and obvious to him. He’d gotten a few cuts from when he’d pushed too a bit too fast or far, but he was pleased with what he’d done. Or at least he’d used to be. Now he was just one of those people he’d despised for making a ‘product’, to be delivered, used up and thrown away when it was no longer needed.

As he’d mused earlier in the week, each day he spent aboard DROP 47 cost him a bit more of his soul. Then what do I do? Hundreds of lives weighed against billions; that was the decision Halo made. It’s the one I made. Is there any going back from that? Do I have the right? In one hand, Halo. His home, his world and the billions people upon it. In the other... those eager eyes that watched him. Trusted him. What do I do? What can I do?

Plan.

It was nothing, but at the same time it was something. “Vigil,” he said to the air.

“On-line,” the computer replied instantly. “What do you require, Director Hayes?”

“Deliver to my quarters’ workstation a review of security procedures in all high-security laboratories.”

“You are cleared for that information,” Vigil mused as it processed the information. “However, notification of such a request will be sent to all associated Project Directors and station security.”

“That’s all right, Vigil.”

“Very well. Data compiled and delivered to specified destination. Do you require anything else at the moment?”

“No thank you.”

“Logging you out,” the AI commented and silence once again descended on the room.

“So there it is,” Hayes said into the empty, darkened room. “One more step.” Towards, what though? Putting such thoughts from his mind, Everett closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the quiet.

And the mice kept scratching at the walls.

~

Saturday:

Standing in the waiting room outside General Corman’s office, Captain Alexei Ragnikov looked out the window to admire his ship’s lines. The UCWS Duty Before Glory was a fine ship. Fresh from the yards at Davios Minor, it was from the third generation of Coalition builds. Meaning it won’t lose quite as badly against an Imperial ship of the same tonnage as the Type IIs and Is do, Ragnikov thought sardonically. Of course if all went as planned on this mission, Duty Before Glory would never face an Imperial ship at all, let alone something of battlecruiser weight.

‘Mission’, the New Kursk native thought with a shake of his head. What mission, exactly? All I’ve been told is that Duty is being pulled from the active roster for some clandestine snatch-and-smash that ‘shouldn’t’ see any combat! He tapped his fingers impatiently against the bulkhead; the Coalition was gearing up for the final push against the Imperium and the Earthers were falling back on almost every front. They were making the Coalition pay for every inch of space, but the inescapable fact was that Earth was losing.

We only need to keep the pressure on them, keep grinding them down. And to do that, we need every Type III we can build! But no, Command has a ferret up their ass about something and I get yanked from the line. Brilliant. He leaned against the window, pressing his forehead against the cold, clear metal. I should be out there. I want to be. I need to.

One of Corman’s aides poked her head into the room. “Sorry for the wait, Captain Ragnikov; the general has just been finalizing some details, but he’s ready to see you now.”

“Thank you,” Ragnikov said, discarding his morose thoughts as he picked up his beret and tucked it under his arm, letting the aide escort him to Corman’s office.

The general gestured for Alexei to sit down. “Please be seated, captain, Would you care for something to drink?”

“No thank you, sir,” Alexei politely waved off the general’s offer.

“Very well, we’ll get right to business. A full briefing will be sent to your ship shortly, but I’d just like a chance to discuss the bare bones with you here and now. I’m sure your new orders have come as something a surprise and perhaps a disappointment, yes? I know you were slated to accompany General Bergerac into Hell’s Mouth, but the Joint Assembly has a more pressing need for you and your ship.”

“I understand it’s some sort of covert insertion, sir.”

“Not... quite, captain.” Corman leaned back in his chair. “We’ve heard... rumours. Very troubling rumours, captain. Every time we’ve tried to get confirmation on them, Imperial Intelligence has shut us down hard and fast. Which is its own kind of confirmation, I suppose. But getting that has cost us quite a few men and women already.” After a moment, the general stood and paced; whatever this mission, whatever these ‘rumours’ were, they were clearly unsettling.

“Your ship will be running completely black, captain,” Corman said after a moment. “Your assignment will not be noted in any log or order of battle. You will not stop for supplies. You will not answer any transmissions. You will not respond to any distress calls. No hint of your presence must be allowed to leak back to Earth. As far as anyone knows, you and Duty Before Glory will have accompanied General Bergerac to Hell’s Mouth as you were scheduled to and were destroyed re-taking that system. I wanted to tell you this personally, so that you’d understand just how serious Command is taking this mission.”

Alexei felt his eyes widen. “I’m beginning to understand, sir.”

“Good. We’re sending you ghost-hunting, captain, deep into Imperial-controlled space. The odds are good that you may not come back from this mission, even if you succeed. But we need to know. We need to be certain.”

“Certain about what, sir?”

The general turned back to Ragnikov. “Sure that we’ve either been chasing a paper tiger, or that it’s a real one. If it is... God help us all. I assume you’ve heard of the Twilight Fields, captain?”

“In passing, sir. Some kind of navigational hazard, I understand.”

“Some kind, yes. Now tell me, captain – have you ever heard of DROP 47?”

[Night_stalker]

What the hell were they doing on DROP 47, reality shifting?

[LadyTevar]

No, this is background, and that is Shannon's grandfather, working with the Children. The real question is "What are the Obelisks" and "What is the Umbra"?

[Alan Bolte]

At some signal, floodlights around the lip of the crater were switched on, and the bright earthlight was obliterated by a far more brilliant glare. In the lunar vacuum the beams were, of course, completely invisible; they formed overlapping ellipses of blinding white, centered on the monolith. And where they touched it, its ebon surface seemed to swallow them.

Pandora's box, thought Floyd, with a sudden sense of foreboding - waiting to be opened by inquisitive Man. And what will he find inside?

[Night_stalker]

Does nobody remember Curosity killed the cat?