James Scotson - Planets Falling

Fen was about half way up when the hand appeared. Fromer and Grey were astonished. It was enormous, twice Fromer’s size. Each of its four fingers was encased in sinew and vessels — long, gray fingernails darted from their ends. The hand grasped at Fromer. He aimed and fired three shots. The demon dissolved into a slushy mass on the ground, pulsating.

“What in the world was that?” Grey exclaimed.

“I do not know,” Fromer said. “But let us hope that Fen sends the ring back down soon.”

The climbing ring slid down; Grey quickly grabbed it and ascended. Fromer never felt so isolated. All sound was absent — the fog had sucked it away from him. The tendrils of haze coalesced and for a moment Mup’s blank face hung before him, passing judgement, daring him to continue. Fromer aimed. With one shot, the face imploded into a glob of brown muck and hit the ground with a wet smack.

The next few moments were perceived as frames by Fromer. Three, perhaps four, hands appeared, all smaller than the first. In his periphery, Fromer saw that the hands were affixed to snake-like arms. They were coming for him. He grabbed onto the rope and found small nooks on the wall for his feet. He scurried up the rock face, leaving the hands behind him far below in the mocha swirls.

His compatriots were standing in a circle facing out, protecting their interior. Fromer asked, “Has anything occurred up here?”

“Not yet,” Fen responded. “What happened down there?”

Grey responded. “Beats me. I expect it has something to do with the organic composition of the fog. Somehow it configures itself into multiple shapes. Fromer, is this the same thing you and Verat saw and that likely killed Rhodes?”

“Neither Verat nor I saw the creatures. We did hear them and they made a similar sound. Let us check in with Gorian. Perhaps the sonar imagery can be compared.”

Grey began typing into his tablet. “Gorian says that the imagery was similar. Both the creatures that attacked Rhodes and apparated before us at the cliff were as solid as the rocks. They disappeared as quickly as they appeared. This really sucks. It’s almost like the fog itself is alive and can configure itself into shapes.”

The fog at this elevation was thinner and oozed off the edge of the cliff into the valley — a ghostly, silent waterfall. Visibility was surprisingly good. They saw several hundred feet into the mist. They were standing on a plateau stretching all directions away from the cliff edge. The sunlight waned.

“It is time for us to rest until dawn,” Fromer announced.

No one argued with him.

Grey tapped on his tablet. “Gorian reports that Verat and Ig made it back to camp. Thank mars. Melat’s still in the shuttle. She won’t respond to hails. The drone is about one hundred feet above us and detects no creatures nearby. Ig will take over recon for Gorian for a while.”

Fromer stood up, brushing dust and debris off of his legs. “I will take first watch. I suggest the rest of you get some sleep.”

The others produced packets from their bags. When opened, tents with sleeping sacks uncompressed. Each crew member slipped in and tried to drift into unconciousness. Fromer sat silently scanning the horizon for hands, snakes, Mup. Who knew what might materialize? The light quickly faded. The stars and moon were muffled by the haze. The darkness was nearly impenetrable. Fromer flipped on his visor and set it to detect heat patterns. He had no idea if the things out there generated that kind of energy. Without Gorian’s drone watching with him, he might as well be sleeping along with the rest of the crew.

He glanced occasionally at Grey’s tablet. Iggy sent a communication every fifteen minutes to ensure that communications were still open. Other than that, only the sound of breathing from the tents and an occasional oppressive breeze broke the monotony.

The first ghoul visited him two hours into his shift. Initially, it was a thin strip of light flickering in the distance. It floated toward him as he readied his rifle. His visor showed no heat. His finger tickled the trigger when the light expanded and a small child, a human girl perhaps three years of age, stepped out. He dropped his rifle sight, and watched in amazement. The girl was glowing, producing a light similar to that of his skin. She approached him and smiled, giving him a look that was both benign and wisened. This girl was much older than a toddler. As he was about to ask her who she was, she vanished — or more accurately, folded out of existence.

Fromer lifted Grey’s tablet and queried Iggy.

Grey comm: FROMER TO IG. DID YOU SEE A FIGURE? OVER.

Gorian comm: IG HERE. NO ACTIVITY OTHER THAN YOU AND THE TENTS. WHAT ARE YOU SEEING? OVER.

Grey comm: UNSURE. KEEP AN EYE OPEN. OUT.

Fromer was now fully alert, peering into the depths of the darkness. He strained. His eyes protested. He may have been ageless, but he still needed to rest. His body and more importantly his mind were pleading for him to stand down. He walked over to Grey’s tent and poked him.

Grey opened his eyes. “Fromer. Time for my shift?”

“Grey, I may be hallucinating. A little girl visited me a moment ago. She was glowing and silent. Before we could communicate, she vanished before me.”

Grey coughed quietly. “Anywhere else and I’d agree that you’re seeing things. But here, I think you’re seeing the visual anomalies reported by the satellites. We’re in the right area.” Grey crawled out. “It’s too hot to sleep anyway.”

Fromer perched against a rock and closed his eyes. “Wake me if you see more.”

Grey checked his tablet. Verat had taken Iggy’s place. The drone still saw nothing.

An hour passed and Grey found himself thinking of Gorian and what they might do if they survived this expedition. He’d ask her to go home with him — show her the mountains he loved as a boy. Enjoy the cool, crisp breezes and the clear skies. For now though, he was surrounded by a world that appeared to be wrought from Verat’s tea — with a touch of cream. It was thick, bitter, robust, and perhaps lethal at high doses.

He looked down at his hands for a moment. When he lifted his head, he fell back in surprise. Two glowing humans — strangely androgenous — stood before him within an arm’s distance. They were young, perhaps early twenties and smiled silently. Their eyes were vacant holes, which Grey should have found disconcerting. But the visitors radiated such serenity that Grey felt compelled to touch them. He reached out; they evaporated into a thin vapor.

“Fromer, wake up.”

Fromer was alert immediately. “What happened, Grey?”

“Two more just visited and now look.” Before them, hundreds of glowing figures — some human, some clearly zenat, nauron, or xyn, and others who were unrecognizable — were milling about. The darkness and the mist yielded to their soft glow. Fromer and Grey sat down and watched. When the figures neared them, some appeared to recognize the men, speaking to them without words. Other apparitions drifted past, preoccupied in their own paths.

Grey consulted his tablet. “The drone sees us but nothing else. I had Verat do a scan of electrical activity. It is elevated here but not by much. These things are running on less power than is needed for a flashlight. What should we do?”

“Wonder,” Fromer said with a grin.

Gorian was spent. She was recovering from the incident on the Raven and had just witnessed a man being torn apart by the very fog surrounding her. And now she was trying to extract a stubborn nut from its shell. She could use a hit of Verat’s strong tea. Miraculously, Verat appeared with a steaming cup and put his hand gently on her shoulder.