Steven McDonald - Steven E. McDonald

Smith was yanking cylinders out of a wall compartment while Peters went down to retrieve the last of them. Perversely enough, the scrubber compartment had been placed directly under the Core.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Smith was saying, pulling a last cylinder out, getting it boxed. “This place freaks me out.”

“You want to suffocate on the ride home?” Peters called up to him. She ducked down, calling up to him, “Last one!”

The cylinder was stubborn, refusing to come out as easily as it had gone in.

“Come on,” Smith called.

“Goddammit!” Peters growled, hauling back. The cylinder slipped free suddenly, offbalancing her. She lost her grip on the scrubber, missing it as it fell into the coolant around her feet, disappearing from sight. “Shit!”

“Leave it,” Smith called down. “We don’t have time, let’s go!”

The hell with it. She bent down and fished around, getting hold of the end of the cylinder, pulling it free of the muck. Not wasting time in gloating to Smith, she turned around and got back up to the storage boxes, packing the slick cylinder away. Smith had lost a cylinder in the sludge himself, but they could manage without it.

They finished packing up as quickly as they could, each taking a case of the scrubbers and heading out of the Second Containment and into the corridor.

The case was heavy, and Peters found herself falling behind Smith, who loped ahead like a man possessed. She decided she was not going to worry about it—Smith was halfway to crazy anyway, and only Miller was capable of keeping up with the man.

She took a deep breath, praying that their ordeal would be over soon.

There was a giggle behind her, childlike, echoing.

She stopped, shocked. Her heart pounded.

In a whisper, she said, “Denny?” She turned back to look down to the Second Containment. She could still see the Core from here, a dark shape within the darkness. There was nothing else to see.

She started to turn back, aware that she had lost sight of Smith.

At the corner of her vision, she saw a swift movement, a tiny figure that dashed across the Second Containment’s outer area. It couldn’t be….

“Denny?” she said again, her voice barely even a whisper. Her head was filling with fog again. Something was wrong here, she knew that. She turned back. “Smith?”

Smith was gone. He was more than likely halfway to the main airlock by now, unaware that she had stopped.

She had to know.

She put down the scrubber case and started back toward the Second Containment, looking from side to side. There was nothing to be seen.

Another giggle. There was the scrape of metal upon metal.

Peters crept forward, trying to see into the deep shadows. “Den…?” she whispered.

There was an open access panel in the outer area of the Second Containment.

Peters bent down, trying to see inside. It was dark in there, the length of the duct reflecting the little light that there was.

She tried to clear her mind. How could Denny have been brought here? Miller was right, she knew that. The ship used the dark corners to get at them, and here was hers, in the form of Denny. She had loved him always… and she had fled from him too, gone back to space when she should have stayed with him, stayed around to help him.

“Mommy…” A plaintive voice, so far away.

She had left him behind on Earth and this evil ship had somehow reached out and brought him here, into its dark heart.

She could not allow Denny to be taken by this monster. Her son deserved a better fate than this, a better existence than the one she had afforded him.

She climbed into the service duct, ducking her head. “Den…?” she called.

She had to move along almost crab-fashion, but her determination made her quick. Weir had been stuck in one of these service ducts, she remembered, cramped down and in the dark when the lights had gone out. She wondered what he had seen.

She stopped at a junction, looking both ways before continuing. She wished, desperately, that she had thought to pick up a flashlight before coming in here. There was no way of knowing what else might be in here besides Denny.

She had an involuntary flash of memory, the log playback cascading through her mind, and her stomach turned. She fought it down, kept going.

There was a whisper behind her that could have been Denny’s voice. She turned around, seeing nothing. There was a sound behind her at the junction, something like running feet, and she turned back again.

Nothing.

This time the whisper was in front of her. She eased across the junction, looking to either side again.

“Denny?” she called, moving on. “Denny, come to Mommy.”

She knew the ship could be playing a game with her, but she could not be certain of that. If it had somehow brought Denny here…

A child laughing, amused, echoing in the distance. She continued onward, trailing it. She came to a vertical shaft. The laughter echoed down the shaft now, clear and bright. She straightened up, looking up the shaft.

No choice. She began climbing the ladder, moving steadily up the shaft. The laughter was becoming clearer and clearer the higher she climbed.

“Hold on,” she said, “Mommy’s coming.”

Her arms and legs ached beyond belief, but she would not let the pain stop her. Not now, not while she had a chance to save her son from the Event Horizon. ‘ The shaft ended at a catwalk. She pulled herself up onto the icy metal and stood up, looking around. She had no idea where she was in the ship, hoping only that she could get back to the Lewis and Clark once she had retrieved Denny.

Great machinery rose on either side of her, humming with the ugly sound of harnessed energy. The machines were dark, shining dimly under low lighting.

The catwalk wove between the machines, the end invisible in the gloom.

Ahead of her a small figure was running.

“Den?” she called.

The lights flickered, reddened. The low, angry hum of the machines deepened in tone, making her head hurt. She felt the sound in the pit of her stomach.

She ran forward, came to a junction, turned wildly around, searching.

Denny was standing a few feet away, barely visible in the dimming light.

“Denny?” she said.

He was standing.

“Mommy,” he said.

The ship had brought him here, given him this. She no longer knew whether she should laugh or cry. All she wanted was to get him out of here, make him safe.

The lights flickered.

She eased ahead. “You can walk,” she whispered, staring, “Denny, you can walk… oh, my baby…”

The tears were starting now. All she could think of was Denny, of getting him out. Another few steps and she could get him out.

“Wanna show you, Mommy,” Denny said, holding out his arms to her, just like he had held his arms out at his birthday party, “wanna show you something—”

Another step and she could hold on to him.

The catwalk disappeared from beneath her. Screaming, she fell, plunging down. There was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to save her. She turned over in midair, seeing the darkness of the Core, then passing it, turning again.

She slammed into the deck in front of the Core, feeling her body bend and splinter, the pain terrible for a few moments before it faded into a general numbness. She could not move, could not feel anything. Her breath came raggedly, suffused with blood.

“Denny,” she whispered. A pool of blood was spreading out from under her.

Even if she was found now, she knew that nothing could be done for her. She had fallen too far, too hard, there was too much damage.

She wished she could move.

Twenty meters above her, she could see Denny looking down at her, clapping his hands.