Brash and the Schrodinger Snare Ch. 07

"We're so fucked, we're so fucked, we're so fucked!" Blackheart said, his voice a hissing monotone.

I looked around the bridge, then focused. Using my head computer, I called in: "Captain Ryan?"

No answer.

Cold fear sweat beaded on my forehead. I pocketed the phylactery, then reached into my pack. I pulled out the manhole covering shape of the T-bomb and craned my head, listening. Clink clunk. Clink. Clunk. There was something right outside. Something huge and vast and breathing. The breathing was the worst part. I could hear it: Labored and heavy and wet. I tried to repress the shudder that ran through me.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

The sound that came at the door was all the worse for being so polite. Bone – with just enough softness to let me know that a sick, black rot had taken root from marrow outwards – slamming into metal. A grotesque parody of good manners. Just let me in, Brash, that knock said. I just want to come in and say hello...

"I liked the other guy more," I said, trying to sound brave. Instead, my voice wavered.

"Heh...heh...ha...ha ha ha," the voice that came through the door was dry as reeds before a forestfire. But its laughter picked up pace and pitch, growing higher and higher and more frantic. "HahahahahahaAAAHAHA-" and it twisted into a scream that made my body shudder. I wanted to clutch my hands to ears. Blackheart was. He was screaming, blood pouring from his eyes, his skin darkening as that horrible, horrible screaming laugh continued to drill into him and me. But I waited just a fraction of a second longer – until the laughter was louder than the thump and whirr of a five pound directional thermite bomb sticking to the door.

"Jokes on you," I said, then grabbed Blackheart, tackling him behind a console moments before a furious, burning light of a star exploded into the room.

When I peeked out, Blackheart peeked with me. He was rubbing at his temples and looking a bit ashen, but overall not-dead. That was good! What was less good was that the door was now bubbling slag and there was no sign of anything outside. I gulped, then stood. "Come on!" I said, grabbing Blackheart's hand. We ran together down the stairs, with me using my psi-sword as a light. I tried to use my wrist light, but it refused to actually turn on.

We came to the bottom of the stairs and I looked left and right, muttering. "If I was a Lich King, where would I put people?" I whispered.

"Lets get outta here, lad!" Blackheart snarled.

"Fuck that noise!" I hissed. "P90 and Alex are still here."

"They're already dead!" Blackheart growled.

I did not normally roar. And when I did roar, it was for good reasons. Happy reasons! Like orgasming inside of my beautiful wife. But when I needed to, I could roar like a chromatic dragon. And right then, I roared like a black scaled beast at Blackheart. "We are NOT abandoning them, because I'm NOT YOU!" I shoved Blackheart against the wall, putting my psi-sword up against his face. "Do you understand?" I snarled, shaking him slightly with my free arm. "I. Am. The. Hero. I save everyone. That's what I do. Got it?"

Blackheart gulped, nodding. "Got it. Got it."

I let him go. Then frowning, I pulled the phylactery from my pocket. "Liches..." I closed my eyes, checking my head computer. "Liches store their bodies in phylacteries. Phylacteries hold souls. Oi! You!" I shook the phylactery. "How badly do you want to pass on into the afterlife?"

The tiny soul within started to bob its head eagerly. I sighed. "Okay..." I bit my lip. "Lets...see if this works..." I narrowed my eyes, then shifted the phylactery in my grip, until I was holding it just by the very bottom of its tube shape. With most of it sticking out into the air, I gently brought it up against my psi-sword. The crystalline structure of the phylactery hissed, bubbled, then finally split after I applied just a bit more pressure. I jerked it back just in time – managing to only cut a very tiny slit in it. A blue-white ectoplasmic cloud roared out of the phylactery and I quickly tucked the phylactery up against my back, to keep it as far from the newly freed soul.

The soul dispersed, then vanished, and for just a moment, the pitch black corridor felt...welcoming.

Comforting.

That feeling faded as, in the distance, I heard the rustle and thump of dessicated flesh – masses of it. Armies of it. Slouching, sightless, eyeless horrors brought to hideous unlife in darkness of space. The sound carried and with it the faint stink of corruption. Despite the fact I could scent the new flavor, the air seemed to stagnate, pressing against me without breeze or shift in the air current. My whole body ached with a need feel the outside...and my brain buzzed with knowledge I was trapped in a tomb-ship.

I shook off that feeling and lifted up my phylactery. It was dim. But as I swung it around and aimed it at Blackheart...and it glowed. Blackheart eyed it, frowning. "It's trying to...tug..." he put his hand to his chest and I swung the phylactery away from him, nodding.

"It can feel souls," I said, cheerfully – forced cheer. I tossed the empty phylactery into the air, then swung it around, turning in a slow half circle until it glowed once more. "And a soul? Is right off that way. Come on."

And with that – I was off.

Psi-sword at the ready and Blackheart on my heels.

TO BE CONTINUED