Black Rain Ch. 03

After asking him several times, the lonely man had told her exactly what it was he was looking for. His wife had disappeared aboard a transport bound for the outland systems, and the distress call indicated this planet as their emergency landing area.

The Ja-Harans called the planet T'Oghrah, or as the humans translated it out through their inventive technology, Hell. It was aptly named and she had tried to warn Koor away from taking the mission. The beating that followed her plea had left scars down her backside that would never go away. He had whipped her within an inch of her life and she had learned the price of her tongue's ignorance in the chain of command.

"My wife," Halen had told her, "I need my wife."

"Why?" she had asked.

"She is my life."

Hessex found herself pondering those words over and over again. Halen was willing to risk everything just for the chance of finding his mate alive on a planet where death ruled all. Halen didn't seem to care. His love for her drove him as the fear of Koor's retribution drove Hessex. She began to realize that her life, her subservience to Koor was a pale commitment in the face of such pure emotion and love. Seeing that not all men were like Koor made her feel sad and alone, trapped like some animal in a cage. Once she questioned her place with Koor, everything else began to unravel for her.

"She is weak," Wren whispered to Kale, "When the time is right I swear by my gods I'll-"

Hessex was on him before the Haalken even had a chance to react. Her dagger once again pressed to his body, this time into his long, vein crossed neck as she hissed, "When the time is right for what, Wren?"

The red alien swallowed hard.

"You think as loudly as you speak," she glared at him, "We all know your thoughts about me. Either face me as a man or act like a fearful child, whispering and plotting behind the back of your captain to catch the ears of his men."

Kale looked at her for a long, horrible moment as she pinned Wren to the wall and then away. Wren stared right back at her, but his eyes betrayed his fear and embarrassment.

"Tell me," she pressed herself against the wiry alien, "What is it about me you find so threatening? What could a mere woman hold to put such fear in your eyes?"

Wren said nothing.

"Task me again," she slowly began drawing away from him, the dagger still tight to his throat, "Task me again and I'll kill you."

Hessex sat back in her seat again and closed her eyes, trying to let the rumble of the shuttle passing through thick air soothe her mind. She could feel the eyes of her men watching her, all of them quietly contemplating the small power play that had just unfolded. She hated Wren. She hated this god-forsaken planet and whatever evil had made it such an awful place.

'Peace,' she thought to herself. Slowly, she calmed her heart and steadied her pulse until she was ready.

"We've reached landing coordinates, Mistress Hessex."

She opened her eyes.

"Deploy."

***

Sonny was glad to get out of the mess hall. There was enough evidence to nail Harmon for good, but there wasn't any hard evidence yet. The man was lying, that much was apparent. Sonny knew the ship better than the men and women who had designed and built her. The only way the A.I. would have woken Harmon up before the captain, or even Tishara and himself was if it had been programmed to do so. And only the captain and Harmon had the clearance to do that.

If Sonny had been captain, he would have strung Harmon up by his toes outside for the remainder of their stay.

"But I'm not the captain," he muttered to himself, the sudden need to urinate seizing his bladder. The crazy tilt of the corridor made the problem all more delicate as he navigated over the fallen support beams and dislodged tubing from the inner walls.

The hatch to the head was still open from when he and Gordon had let Harmon out for the questioning, but when he poked his head in he was greeted by a wretched stench that singed the hair in his nose. He staggered back, leaning against the deck plate, waving one hand in front of his face, "Holy shit."

It smelled like someone had puked in the compartment after a night of heavy eating and drinking. Sonny pulled his work rag out of the back pocket of his coveralls, pressing it to his mouth and nose. Stifling his gag reflex, he returned to the hatch and looked downward into the compartment. The flashlight revealed something he couldn't quite comprehend. The water that had flooded the room from the main tanks was no longer clear. Even in the flickering lights above the sink basins he could see it had turned a vile black color. Thick bubbles formed on the surface and expanded outward, followed by a thick wet *pop* sound. Steam was rising up from the flooded compartment, a slight hissing sound tickling his ears.

"What in the name of God is that?" he breathed into the rag. The substance looked like oil, a viscous sort of fluid that rippled and oozed into every available space. And then he noticed that the sinks were nearly submerged. Earlier, when he had thrown Harmon inside and when the water had been clear, the sinks had been mostly free and dry. The vile liquid was rising slowly but surely. Sonny imagined that given another couple hours, the entire head would be filled with it.

He stood back and sealed the hatch, locking it off. Whatever the stuff in the head was, it hadn't come from the water tanks. He frowned and looked down the corridor towards the bow of the ship. The two water tanks were located centrally in the forward hold of the vessel, a section now buried under the wreckage. Sonny scratched his chin and then turned to face the aft corridor. He unzipped his suit, took a moment to relieve himself and then quietly shook it off.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered to his ship, "Never meant to piss on you. But these are hard times."

Instead of returning to the mess hall, Sonny stopped by the med lab, grabbed a flashlight and began making his way down to the water storage bay. He could hear his shipmates talking, their voices heated but not necessarily angry. He hated leaving them alone, the idea of a blind captain and a hotheaded Denavian to carry out the questioning with two people who might have lost their collective marbles making him feel sick. But the stench in the head made him feel even worse. Something was leaking into the ship from the planet itself, and he needed to find out what it was.

Sonny reached the access to the lower levels and opened the hatch. The same smell was here as well, though not as strong. He sighed and patted the floor plate as he climbed in, "Okay baby, show me where it hurts."

***

"What do you think?" Ashton asked Soniah quietly.

"I think Harmon is lying," Soniah said evenly. The two stood in the kitchen of the mess hall, out of earshot but within sight of Harmon and Paisley.

"Yeah," he nodded, "The A.I. is programmed to wake me first in the event of an emergency."

"Between that and the facts that he not only shot at you repeatedly upon entry to the bridge and his frankly ridiculous account of what happened with Paisley I think there's enough circumstantial evidence to at least keep him incarcerated," she leaned against the bulkhead.

"It's circumstantial though," Ashton reminded her, "We need proof."

"Once Sonny has full access to the flight recorder I think we'll know all that we need to know," she said, "But captain, if he did sabotage the ship, of which I have no doubt, what will we tell the others?"

Ashton felt a thick nausea in his stomach. Harmon's complaints about a lynching might not be that far from the truth. He could guarantee the behavior of himself, and even Tishara and Soniah for that matter. But Sonny? What about Gordon and the others? And what of Paisley? Under normal circumstances, they could be counted upon to leave Harmon alone. But if it were learned he had caused the crash, on purpose or not, he doubted that they would take the news gracefully.

Beyond that, locking Harmon up was the only punishment he could consider. Killing the man wasn't an option here. If he opened the door to capital punishment like this, then the next time it would only get easier. He couldn't risk that kind of thinking spreading to the survivors. They might be here a long time, and playing executioner would only make matters worse. Harmon might genuinely deserve to be shot, but not this way. Ashton knew that once he crossed that line, every step of the way past that line would be slippery and deadly for them all.

"Your impressions of Paisley?" he asked, ignoring the question.

"She's been traumatized," Soniah said, "During most of the proceedings, her hands were covering her crotch defensively. Something happened to her."

"Jesus," Ashton exhaled, "I can't believe Harmon would do something like that. Could it have been DSDs?"

Soniah was silent for a moment. She looked at Harmon, who sat quietly in his seat with that blank expression on his face, the expression that told nothing of his state of mind. She said, "It's possible. But Paisley acts as though she were drugged and raped. I'll be honest, captain. I've seen DSD before and she's not symptomatic. Her hands aren't shaking, her eyes don't shift rapidly and her speech isn't slurred or erratic."

"And Harmon?"

"You don't want to know what I think about him."

"I do," the captain insisted, "That's why you're here."

"I believe he somehow sabotaged the ship," she said quietly, "I believe things may have gotten out of control and his plan failed in that sense."

Ashton didn't like what she was saying at all, but he knew deep down she was right.

"A lot of people want the Delta Prime Colony to fail," she told the captain, "There was an estimated 95 billion dollars in loans tied up in this project. If it succeeded, the corporation would have been in the clear with the lenders. If it failed, the loans would be defaulted and by contract the company and three-quarters of the Terran Space Exploration Wing would fall into the hands of the private sector."

"Jesus," he breathed, "No one told me."

"No one would have told you. You're a transport captain," she said, and then added, "No offense."

"None taken."

"Harmon fucked us, of that I have no doubt. The flight recorder will prove that," she said, "But who he was working for and how much they paid him is what I want to know."

Ashton smiled despite himself. Hearing the word 'fuck' come from the smooth, eloquent speech of the Denavian was amusing and rare. He asked, "Why is the money important?"

"Because," she looked at the captain, "If someone put a price tag on our lives, I'd like to know how much he sold us out for."

***

As Sonny lowered himself down to C-deck, the smell became suddenly thick and horrific with metallic odor. He staggered down shadowy corridor, lit only by red emergency lights until he found a med station. He could taste the metal vapor in his mouth. He opened the small door to the station and reached inside the compact compartment. After a few moments of fumbling around, he found an oxygen mask. He slipped it on and activated the canister attached to it by a long, thin hose.

"Oh mother of mercy," he gagged and sucked in the fresh air. He flashed his light on the canister and saw it held twenty minutes worth of air. He clipped it to his uniform at the hip and went to the computer terminal directly behind him. The screen was dark, but the light up console was flickering on and off. He reached under the console and felt around for a moment; grunting and cursing before his fingers discovered the battery back up.

The terminal lit up and he was greeted by the voice of the A.I. computer. The normally soft, feminine voice was distorted by feedback and interference. It said, "Hello, Engineer Jackson."

"Hey baby," he smiled behind the mask and wiped a thing film of sweat from his brow, "Glad to hear your voice. Damage report?"

"Hull integrity at seven percent... life support damaged..." the computer echoed in the corridor. As it spoke, the computer screen gave a read out of the ship, indicating damaged compartments and ruptured hull plating with flashing red indicators. Almost the entire ship was glowing red. Sonny felt his heart sink as the computer went on, "Primary and secondary drive systems damaged... fuel leak from tanks three through seven, no countermeasures available..."

"Baby," Sonny shook his head, "Can you identify the substance contaminating the water supply?"

The computer was silent for a moment, and then, "Substance unknown."

"Can you tell me where it is coming from?"

"Water tanks one and two have been compromised... suggest that water has been exposed to alien bacteria from underground source..."

"How deep underground are the water tanks?"

"Fifty seven feet, three inches at outmost edge," the computer crackled, and then followed with, "Power matrix unstable... estimated three hours before total loss of battery reserves..."

"Display current rate of infiltration of the contaminant," he ordered.

The screen changed and showed another schematic of the ship, this one updated to show the missing half of the ship and how deeply entrenched they were into the planet. The computer designated the strange liquid with a glowing blue blotch, spreading out from the tanks and rising into the upper levels. The deck below his current position was completely submerged as the water pipes and conduits running from those lower levels filled up and spilled over.

"Estimated time for the substance to reach A-deck?"

"Twenty two hours, three minutes and five seconds."

"Shit," Sonny rubbed his eyes. He swallowed hard and asked, "Computer, is the substance having any effect on its surroundings?"

"Hull integrity has been reduced to zero percent in the effected areas... rerouting to prevent power failure... trunk lines Beta through Gamma have been ruptured."

"Ruptured?" he leaned against the console and brushed his sandy blonde hair away from his face, "It's acidic?"

"Unable to confirm."

"If its rupturing trunk lines, then it's corrosive," he muttered. He was about to ask another question when a faint sizzling sound filled the hall. He turned and shined his light down the passageway. Thin wisps of white smoke were curling up from the floor at the end of passageway that dipped towards the ground. He could hear the snaps and crackles of power mains shorting out beneath the deck plate. Even through his mask, he could smell the vomitous stink of the ooze and that damned fried metal.

He slowly walked down the passage, carefully watching the floor as he went. The gunmetal gray paint started bubbling off the metal it had been adhered to years ago as the temperature began to rise. Steam began fuming up from the deck and filled the passage as Sonny watched. In the small circle of white light on the deck plate, he watched the metal disintegrate and vanish in a pool of the ichor substance. He backed up quickly and nearly lost his footing as the ship settled again. The framework moaned and creaked as it became unstable at the molecular level.

"It's acid," he breathed, his heart pounding in his chest, "It's some kind of acid."

He rushed back to the console and shouted, "Computer, sound red alert."

"Unable to comply... primary and secondary communications systems disabled."

"Use the navigational array as a bypass," he looked over his shoulder as the slowly rising pool of black liquid, "You can tap into the ship's P.A. system from there."

"Unable to comply... navigational array has been altered from recommended specifications."

"What?" he hissed, "How?"

"Unknown. Records for that time period have been erased."

"What the fuck?"

"Please restate the question."

"Computer, restore default settings for navigational array control, priority Jackson-Delta-Seven-Six."

"Unable to comply."

Suddenly, the deck beneath him began to sink, melting under his boots. Sonny jumped back towards the hatch as the black liquid started to affect the entire stability of the deck. He grasped the ladder and began climbing, the computer still waiting for his next query or command. There was a shower of sparks and flash of light as the console shorted out and the passageway went dark. He slammed the hatch to C-Deck shut and ran to the next hatch leading up.

'Harmon sabotaged the array,' he thought wildly to himself, 'He fucked us over.'

***

In the darkness, it rose.

It felt no need to hurry or rush itself along. This was simply the way things had always been. Steady and methodically it poured into the ship from the broken veins deep within the body, the black liquid a lifeblood and nourishing agent for an entire world. The metals sizzled and then fell away, as they always did. It felt nothing either which way about this process. It simply fed.

In the clouds of vapor rising from this process, Miranda Paisley could see. Her heart jumped into her throat and she realized that she was dreaming. Something had happened. She was no longer in the mess hall sitting beside Harmon and waiting for the captain and Soniah to return from their conference. She was gone, floating away inside her mind to another place.

She began to think she really did have the DSDs, though her hands did not shake and her vision had not blurred in the early warning signs. Instead, she simply drifted away into a deep sleep she hadn't felt coming on. She wondered what had happened in the mess hall, if her body had fallen over of if she were dead. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, so thought not.

The mist before her swirled and caressed her as she passed through. All around her there was frigid darkness. She could see no ground and no point of reference to establish where she was or where she was going. Her hair whipped wildly around her in an unfelt wind, eyes wide and desperate to see.

In the undulating black ahead of her, she began to see faces. It was as though someone were pressing against a huge sheet of rubber with their face, making a ghostly impression on the other side. The face was caught in a silent scream, mouth open wide and filled with fear. If she could have stopped herself from getting any closer, she would have. But the forces that had brought her here would not release her. She sailed towards the wall as more and more faces appeared, all terrified and in agony. She could smell the hot stench of bile now, thick and green in the air around her.

Finally, she touched the moving wall, her hands outstretched to keep her body away from it. The surface was wet and cold. She could feel hard things moving beneath the surface, rolling and pressing outward. The faces seemed to draw to her, hundreds of thousands of them all converging, bulging the wall out like the skin of oily black balloon. Miranda tried to push herself away but couldn't.

Voice filled the void in which she floated, whispers at first but growing into cries for help and pleas for mercy. She could hear dozens of different languages, some she recognized and some she did not. They were overlapping and running together now into one voice of gibberish, growing louder and louder. She covered her ears and cried out, shaking her head back and forth.

"No no no," she whispered.

The wall began to split.

"Captain help me!" she cried.

Her eyes darted up to see the thin rubbery skin splitting open. Something pale and wet struggled to fit through the tear. Miranda began kicking backwards, trying to shove off. Blood, red and thick began oozing from the wound in the fabric of whatever space this was. It floated away as though being poured into space in long tendrils and bubbles. It splashed her and clung to her uniform as the thing in the wall began to break loose. The voices were screaming now and she knew given a few more minutes of this she would go mad.