Surefoot 55: Ex Mortis

The reptoid looked up at her. "What is it, Respected Counselor?"

She moved forward, slowly, haltingly. No. No, they were with Jhess in his quarters back on the Surefoot, safe. They weren't here... they weren't here, in THAT!

Kami raced up to the open lid of the coffin. Kit quickly followed.

She peered down, her heart stopping, her Universe stopping.

Her cubs lay together in the coffin, side by side, dressed in immaculate white human burial clothing, their small furry heads covered in a multitude of disruptor burns and knife wounds.

Their eyes opened, revealing milky-white orbs, Sreen wailing with a sound like claws on slate, Misha holding up his arms and intoning, in a voice like the shovel of earth into a grave, "Mama!"

"NO!!!"

Then Kit brought the lid down on them.

Kami shoved him backwards and opened the lid again- her cubs! Her sweet cubs were, were-

Gone. The coffin was empty, save the pearl satin lining and the matching pillow. She slammed up the lower lid, saw and scented nothing there.

Nothing. Not even a trace of them. It was an illusion.

Snarling, she grasped the handles of the coffin and flipped it over, sending it crashing off the trestle and cracking the frame. She arched her back, looked up and roared, as rage and relief and terror swirled and fought and broke inside her.

Finally she calmed down, looked around for Kit... and saw that she had shoved him backwards to crash into half of the chairs like they were ninepins. She rushed down to help him. "Kit! I'm so sorry! Forgive me, I didn't mean- are you hurt?"

He was already helping himself back up to his feet, webbed hands feeling his limbs through his uniform. "I- I understand your intense reaction, Respected Counselor, given the horrible vision provided."

Kami started. "You saw- you saw them? My cubs?"

His round bronze eyes fluttered, and his throat wattles darkened into a deep purple. "N-No... I saw my brother, Arishkigel. I- I have had nightmares about his being killed in the interplanetary war my people are fighting with their neighbours. As a political exile I have had no contact with him in years, with any of my race, and are not likely to in the near future. Then I saw him... in that receptacle. He- He looked so real... forgive me, I- I-"

She drew him into a hug, one she needed to receive as much as give.

But then she realised that they couldn't linger, and she drew back. "Why? Why would we be subjected to those nightmares?"

The reptoid breathed in. "I am reminded of that encounter five years ago on Halloween, with the anaphasic being, Baron Samedi, the emovore who fed on guilt, and induced visions in its victims-"

"I remember." She recalled that incident acutely, seeing an illusory image of her first husband Rmorra, trying to torment her over having moved on and married Esek. The illusion had felt just as real as this one with her cubs, "But we destroyed Samedi."

"Perhaps another of his kind?" Kit ventured. "He employed elements of the occult, such as what we see here: ghosts, coffins-"

Kami steeled herself. "Tell you what, Kit: when we find the one responsible for all this, and I rip him inside out, you can ask what's left of him, okay?"

He drew up, glancing back at the coffin where he saw his beloved brother. "That... will be most acceptable, Respected Counselor."

*

The chill of a bleak winter ran through Hrelle's uniform and fur to his bones. He hated the cold. He felt too much of it during his time as a slave for the Orions and the Breen. He walked down a long, narrow corridor illuminated by sunken lights, the flanking walls covered in endless rows of rectangles carved into the cold marble walls, rectangles with dark brass plates in the centre of each, plates inscribed with Terran names and dates. He paused to examine some; the names meant nothing, but the dates ran back for centuries...

It was a crypt. He had seen them on Earth, when he visited the place where his first wife was buried, and the casualties from his previous command, the Furyk. But this wasn't Earth. It had to be the unidentified starship they had encountered in the battlefield. He had assumed they were scavengers, looking for weapons, warp cores, anything salvageable; carrion exploiting the detritus of War is as old an element as War itself-

"Papa!"

At the far end of the corridor, there was... Misha! He stood there, a silhouette in the light behind him from the transverse corridor, waving to him! "Papa!"

"Misha!" he called back, picking up the pace, racing to his son. What was he doing here? Had he been abducted as well? How many others were here? They were ferrying hundreds of survivors of the Battle of Khavak! Had they all been taken? "Misha! Come here!"

But his son just stood there, waving inanely.

He should have raced up into his Papa's arms.

Hrelle slowed down. He stopped.

His son -- or what tried to pass for his son -- kept waving and smiling. "Papa!"

There was a whine in the air, a high-pitched, mechanical whine, like some anti-grav drone. It got under his skin and made his pointed ears twitch. But he bared his teeth at the image of his son. "Nice try, Whatever You Are."

The illusion of his son dropped the wave... and turned it into an accusing point. "You're Dead."

The high pitch grew louder. "Who are you? Why am I here? What's going on?"

"Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! DEAD!"

The air was shifting- something was coming-

From around the corner behind the image of his son, a silver spherical object about twenty centimetres in diameter flew into view, hovering over the false Misha.

Hrelle studied it, expecting it was some sort of remote surveillance or security device-

Twin forked blade popped out of the front of it.

False Misha waved Goodbye.

The Sphere hurtled towards Hrelle.

*

T'Varik was slowing down. It was not an overt deceleration, at least she didn't think so, but she recognised it, as a side effect of her efforts to control her emotional reaction to their surroundings, and to the music that continued to emanate through the very air.

The last several days had been difficult, to say the least: the battle of Khavak had killed C'Rash, albeit temporarily, and savagely severed the telepathic bond she shared with T'Varik, and almost immediately after, T'Varik had been forced to kill several Jem'Hadar who had invaded the Bridge. C'Rash was restored to life, of course, but T'Varik had yet to find her emotional control, no doubt the result of damage to her mesiofrontal cortex when the bond was broken.

And now fear, dread, confusion filled her, as if carried to her by the music.

Just ahead of her, C'Rash stopped, her tail twitching. They had moved into an area of featureless, windowless corridors, but now she pointed at one door, mouthing Someone In There. T'Varik nodded, gathering up her focus, and motioned for her partner to take the lead.

C'Rash opened the door and entered a cold room of rows of metal tables beneath overhead washing utensils. The tables were all filled with what looked like still humanoid bodies under white sheets, while uniforms of different forces and weapons had been piled into one corner, next to stacks of folded black plastic bags.

T'Varik normally had no emotional attachments or affiliations to the deceased, beyond those to whom she had made connections within her lifetime; it was an inherent contradiction in life, that people were more empathic towards those familiar than towards those unfamiliar. And she had spent time working in the Surefoot's Morgue. She did not get 'the shivers', as some humans described it. And yet, here and now...

She focused on C'Rash stepping lightly between the rows of bodies on tables, her ears and snout twitching... before stopping and pointing at one particular table, looking to T'Varik.

The First Officer nodded.

C'Rash raised her phaser. "Cardassian: this is Starfleet. There's a phaser pointed right at you. Get up, slowly."

The body didn't move.

"I'm Caitian," C'Rash continued. "I can smell you, hear you breathe, under that sheet. Get up, or I'll stun you."

The body bolted upright, pulling away the sheet- freezing only when he saw the Chief of Security, and the phaser. It was a younger male, uniformed, with the rank insignia of a Glinn. He also wore the mask of someone terrified. He gasped, clutching a Cardassian disruptor, catching his breath. "It's- It's true- you're real-"

C'Rash nodded to his weapon. "Drop that to the floor. Slowly."

The Cardassian complied, looking to each of the women in turn. "Is your ship- is it here? Is it still working?"

T'Varik straightened up. "It is. Under the Quadrant Rules of Engagement, you are now our Prisoner of War-"

He let out a sound like a harsh laugh. "Gladly, Vulcan, gladly! Take me!" He swung his legs out, pausing once more when C'Rash stepped back and pointed her phaser at his head. He raised his hands. "Easy, Caitian. I'm on your side. I want to get out of this nightmare as quickly as you!"

"Nightmare? What's going on around here?"

He looked to each of them in turn, lowering his hands, fear returning to his oatmeal-grey face. "We- My unit- had been left behind in a damaged shuttle when the others departed- this... this ship appeared, and we boarded it, looking to take it over..." His face twisted into a scowl of pained memory.

"Your unit?" C'Rash echoed, glancing around. "Where are they?"

The Cardassian looked to her. "The things here killed them! The Cloaked Creatures! The Walking Dead Humans! The Flying Balls!"

C'Rash looked to T'Varik. "Yeah, it sounds like a load of balls."

The Cardassian's breath raced. "Look, whether you believe me or not doesn't matter! The rest of my unit were killed by them, and I hid in here! And we should leave, now! That's all you need to know!"

"I disagree," T'Varik countered calmly. "The presence of this vessel is-"

The music in the distance stopped.

And the covered bodies on the surrounding tables began sitting up.

C'Rash cursed and stepped away from the nearest ones, aiming her phaser at each one in turn.

T'Varik took a defensive stance, seeing the cloths falling away to reveal the nude, cold corpses of Klingons, Cardassians and Jem'Hadar, some of them sporting fatal disruptor or bladed wounds, all of them displaying eyes of pure milky white, but still seemed to focus on the three living beings in the room.

T'Varik's heart raced, uncontrollable. This is not possible. The deceased cannot be revived in this manner. It is an illusion, or holograms, androids, cybernetics, a form of telekinetic control-

"WE HAVE TO GO!" the Cardassian bellowed, shoving C'Rash aside and racing for the door.

The dead were reaching for the remaining Starfleet officers.

T'Varik reached out to one, a Klingon male, and pressed her fingers against his neck... to no effect. The Klingon gripped her tightly.

A phaser beam from C'Rash pierced one side of the Klingon's skull, and exited the other end, sending the body falling.

"I think the Cardie's right!" C'Rash declaring, racing up, grabbing T'Varik by the arm and rushing her out into the hallway-

Something struck T'Varik across the head, sending her to the corridor floor. Distantly she was aware of the Cardassian Glinn standing there, holding a brass candlestick in his hand. "Your phaser- give it to-"

A black-furred meteor struck him, sending him into the far wall, as C'Rash disarmed him and flipped him over her shoulder, sending him tumbling, before closing the door on the walking dead they left behind. She aimed her phaser at him again. "I should have left you in there with those things!"

As T'Varik helped herself back to her feet, ignoring the pain in her skull, she let her anger and anxiety break out. "Cardassian! We have to work together to find our ship!"

But he was clearly panicking now. "You said- you said your ship was here- you lied!"

A high-pitched whine filled the air, growing stronger, louder.

The Cardassian gasped, stepped backwards. "No- Not those accursed things again!" His eyes widened as he looked at them.

No, past them- C'Rash grabbed T'Varik and threw them both to the floor, as something rushed through the air from behind them. T'Varik looked up in time to see a levitating silver sphere with spiked blades in the front embed itself into the skull of the Cardassian. He stood there, jaw dropped as if in disbelief that he had just died.

There was an even higher-pitched mechanical whirling sound from the Sphere.

Then the Cardassian body sank to his knees, as blood pumped out from the back of the sphere to spray behind it.

"What the frigging Seven Hells is going on here?" C'Rash exclaimed.

T'Varik stared in abject, uncontrolled horror -- until she grabbed the phaser from her partner, aimed and fired at the Sphere.

It exploded with a scream that was more organic than mechanical.

The two women returned to their feet, looking at the Cardassian's body, which now slumped fully to the floor, the remains of two forked spikes and a drillbit from the Sphere still embedded in his face and forehead.

"Seriously," C'Rash whispered. "What's going on here, T'Varik?"

"I- I am uncertain. Of anything." She returned the phaser to the Caitian. "Except we need to find the others, or find an egress from this ship."

The dead in the Embalming Room began pounding on the door from the other side.

And then it stopped. The door opened of its own accord.

C'Rash raised her phaser, ready to fire at the undead hordes...

...That were no longer present. The room inside was empty.

*

Sasha struck out at the Pallbearer nearest her, delivering punches and kicks that had less effect than she had expected -- not because she was inexperienced, but because he didn't react like anyone...

Living.

Close up now, she could see the details of his blank face: he wore rouge, other makeup enhancements. The eyes were a filmy grey-white, with no irises. And his mouth...

His mouth was sewn shut.

Holy shit...

He swung out at her, but she dodged the blow, shoving her opponent backwards against the nearest wall. "THEY'RE DEAD!"

Giles was grappling with his own opponent, but glanced fearfully over at her. "What?"

Sasha's Pallbearer launched himself once more at her, and with a roar she grabbed him and drove her boot savagely into his right kneecap, breaking it. He went down with hardly a reaction, except to continue to reach for her, until she brought down a stack of occupied body bags onto him, burying him almost completely.

Then she went after Giles' opponent, who was trying to strangle the young man. She grabbed the second Pallbearer from behind, dragging him back... and breaking his neck with a twist that was easier than she had expected.

The second Pallbearer dropped to the floor, and she pulled Giles away. He bent over, coughing, sputtering, gasping for air as he tried to speak. "Th- Tha- Thank-"

"Shush. Just breathe." She kept her back to the Pallbearer lying on the floor behind her. Another one to add to your list of killings, Sash. Unless your instincts were right, and they were already dead... "Can you straighten up?"

Giles nodded, and began demonstrating... his eyes widening in horror as he looked over her shoulder. "You gotta be kidding..."

She turned, seeing the Pallbearer whose neck she'd broken struggling to get back to his feet as well, arms flailing about for support... and the head slumped backwards at an insane angle, remaining connected to the body by skin and muscle if not bone, as the body moved to the other Pallbearer, still buried under the bodies but obviously trying to free himself.

And on the table, the Klingon corpse, shrunken down to about a metre in height like some fruit left in the sun too long, was beginning to rise and make sounds, the tubes still jammed into its arteries and veins.

Sasha tried not to pee herself, failed, and grabbed Giles' forearm. "Come on!"

They raced to the door and into a cold, dark corridor of marble and curtain and shadow. Their footfalls echoed as they raced blindly down one end, before skidding to a halt to catch their breath. "Dead... they were dead..."

"Bull," Giles responded. "We're in the Holodeck, it's all a program, a trick by someone- C'Rash, Jonas, Neraxis-"

She shook her head. "You really think they'd pull some childish shit like that while we were in the middle of a crisis?"

He shook his head in concession, still trying to slow down his breathing. "Then it has to be the alien ship- conjuring up all the Halloween nonsense like zombies and bodies- dunno why-"

She grunted, recalling a historical report she'd read once in the Academy, a mission of Kirk's where they'd found a planet where some extragalactic aliens had created an environment filled with castles, black cats, witches and wizards, out of some mistaken belief that it was relevant to 23rd Century humans. Like most of Kirk's recorded exploits, it sounded like utter crap to Sasha. Now, however-

She froze when she heard the scuffling from around a nearby corner, motioning for Giles to stay silent and listen. Something was definitely approaching. She indicated a set of thick burgundy curtains across from them, and they flighted over to them, slipping behind them and trying to still them before whatever was approaching noticed anything.

Sasha held her breath as she peeked out from her side, observing twin rows of metre-high humanoids -- the same size as what the Pallbearers were doing to that Klingon corpse, she noted -- in dark cloaks carrying huge black barrels between them down the side corridor. They shuffled along, their heads and faces covered by their draped cowls, moving with a mindless purpose like the Pallbearers... but with an underlying feral menace to them that she had only ever encountered from Ferasans.

But at least these chittering things, like the Pallbearers, seemed focused on their tasks. And there was far too many of them for Giles and her to handle.

Beside her, she felt Giles shaking slightly, and reached out to take his hand. She waited a moment after the phalanx of hooded creatures had disappeared, before emerging and peering down the corridor carefully. "Come on."

"What, you want to follow that army of mini-monks with the giant beer kegs deeper into this freaking haunted house?"

Sasha let go of his hand. "This isn't a haunted house, no matter what we see in here, it's a starship. And we need to get an understanding of the layout of it, find its Bridge, Engine Room, Transporter, Armoury- and find the others. I don't believe we were the only ones grabbed."

Giles held up his hands in surrender. "You're right. I'll go first-"

He started ahead, but she grabbed him again. "Seriously? You couldn't even handle one walking dead guy." She stepped around him. "Putz."

*

Kami led the way down the corridor, catching the echoes of familiar scents. "We definitely didn't get beamed over alone. I'm picking up Sasha, Giles, C'Rash... other things."

Kit drew up beside her. "Do you think you can pinpoint them, Respected Counselor?"

"Not yet." She looked to the young Science Officer, sensing his distraction. "What is it?"

The reptoid pointed a webbed, olive-green hand along the walls and floors. "The labyrinthine interior of this vessel is designed to appear as a planetbound facility of antique design, with no apparent patterns. But patterns exist, in the designs on the walls, in the shape and structures of the lighting fixtures and the curtains-"

Kami stopped and looked around. "You can see patterns here?"

"Indeed, Respected Counselor. On the Iberia, I was much sought after for the Holodeck Labyrinth Challenges. They..." He paused, dipping his head.