Christian Oesterling - Blank Space - Into the Depths of the Universe

She skidded to a halt at his door, whacking the Halo-Core with all her uncontrollable might to activate it.

‘Duma, it’s me, Yuki. Let me in.’ Her voice was raised, hurried. Her breath was short and sharp. From inside she heard nothing, the hum of the ship just continued as it always did. The silence continued.

‘Duma, let me in!’ she was on the verge of shouting now, and still, there was nothing inside. It was too quiet; there was no reply, not even the sound of movement. Yuki felt tears reach for her eyes behind the lids, seeking the way out in the midst of her panic. There had to be something going on now, and far more than a mixture of cabin fever and paranoia.

It was then that she heard Duma scream. It curdled her blood. He screamed, not in pain it seemed, but in sheer terror. It was as if he had witnessed the very thing that created fear itself, down in the darkest parts of the human mind, manifested before him. Never had Yuki heard such a noise, such an expression of pure, unbridled horror, unchained and let loose inside her ears.

‘Duma! I’m shooting my way in!’ She unloaded her gun at the Halo-Core, then twice more for good measure. The door didn’t open. She shot at the edge, hoping to break in. Duma cried out once more, gargling on something. In her mind, Yuki saw him drowning in his own blood, his throat slit by the knife of her dreams, lording over him, The Man in The Top Hat. In a blind panic, Yuki flung herself at the door. It didn’t open, but she felt it buckle. Again, inside, he screamed. It was more distant, disembodied somehow.

Once more she threw herself at the door, and an intrusive thought of ‘Well at least the doors were made solidly enough’ found its way into her head. She ran at the door a third time and a tiny crack appeared at the side. Duma’s vocals, pleading out for help and the end in his crying and screaming; Yuki pounding at the door. She felt she would run out of time any second. His scream was cut short, dead-clean. Her heart rate passed out of the scale.

The door broke, and she tumbled in. She got to her feet, looking for her new-lover with panic-stricken eyes. He was nowhere to be seen. She looked into the room; over by the desk, the chair was toppled. Behind her, the door shut, swinging back to as close a position as it could get. She turned. Duma, stood over her, his throat slashed, blood dripping onto his nightclothes. Before Yuki could comprehend what was happening, his eyes flashed red, and he sliced through her young, perfect neck in one swift slash.

Leon threw himself out of bed at the sound of the screams. He clothed himself frantically, snatching the gun off the counter, and ran from the room.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Holden’s voice over the coms.

‘No idea, something’s up. Everyone report in,’ Leon answered, slowing to a jog to attempt to hear where the screams were coming from. Inside Nightingale, a single footstep sounded like it was coming from a thousand different directions.

‘I’m here,’ Jenny answered.

‘Count me in’ Prissy returned.

‘Wasn’t I screaming,’ Oliver called back. The whole ship seemed to come to a jarring halt, as the five crewmembers listened out for the replies of Yuki and Duma. They didn’t answer.

‘Yuki, Duma, come in,’ Leon called. Silence ensued.

‘Duma, Yuki, are you guys ok?’ Still nothing.

‘Shit, the hell’s happened to them?’ Nobody answered. Leon took a deep breath, tried to steady his nerves, and then started running towards Yuki’s quarters. He found the door locked, and no amount of tampering at the Halo-Core would get it to open.

‘Prissy, get up to the observation room and see if Yuki is in her room, she isn’t opening up. Oliver, get to the cockpit and arm yourself. The rest of us will go to Duma’s room, they might be there. Now move it!’

The crew did move and with alarming speed. Nobody complained every sense was on full alert. This mission into uncharted territories of space had turned out to be far more serious, and not a second could be wasted. Oliver hastened to his familiar surroundings in the cockpit, taking the weapons he had and placing them near him. He strapped in and looked over the controls, remotely shutting the door behind him. Nothing was going to get in through that door, not in ten years of banging on it.

It occurred to him then, that nobody had thought to ask Nightingale about the locations of either their archaeologist or their biologist. It was on oversight that Oliver almost had to laugh at; it was ridiculous when you thought about it.

‘Come in, Nightingale,’ he called out.

‘Yes Oliver,’ it replied in her calm, soothing voice. It was almost irritating in the panic and uncertainty of their situation.

‘Where are Yuki and Duma?’ Nightingale paused. It was only for half a second or so longer than her usual replies to his questions, and anyone else’s for that matter, but Oliver noticed it. It was processing, calculating, trying to work something out. It was a simple enough question. ‘Where are Yuki and Duma?’ It was a simple location, followed by a read-out of their current position. It was not as if he had asked the ship to calculate the Anthropic principle to ten decimal places. It was unnerving, out of place, and wrong. If Nightingale had to physically take time out to try and find two out of seven life forms in its hull, there was something amiss.

‘They are not on board the ship.’

It took a second for it to register exactly what had been said, and Oliver had to question it again.

‘What do you mean, they aren’t on board?’ Where are they?’

‘I will repeat what I have said, Oliver. The humans called Yuki and Duma are not onboard Nightingale.’ Oliver sat in silence. There was something up with the ship again, there must be. He tried to think of ways to trick it into giving him the right answer.

‘How many people are on board then?’ He sat there smugly, he had got it.

‘There are five life signs on the ship.’ He looked out of the ship, out into the darkness. He was beginning to see a few specks in the distance. Nightingale was certain there were only five people on the ship. That could only mean one thing, and he didn’t want to think about it.

At that moment, Prissy came in over the ship’s coms.

‘Guys, I, in Duma’s room. It…’ she stuttered. Holden got to the door just seconds after and saw it broken down. Inside the room, Yuki lay face up, drowned in blood, her throat slashed. Crimson painted the walls, arterial splattering, homage to the blood painters of Androssos IX. Holden looked at his fallen comrade for a second, turned tail to behind a corner and threw up. Leon and Jenny gazed on her body for a few seconds longer, somehow transfixed by the corpse. Even in death, the woman had retained her beauty, the blood somehow enhanced it. Jenny solemnly walked in, leaned over her dead friend, and closed her eyelids. She stayed there awhile, crouched over the body. She breathed in a deep sigh, the smell of blood repulsing her nostrils. Her eyes began to tear up, and then long, loud, excruciating wails of pity, grief, and rage-filled the ship. In the observation room, Prissy joined in with stifled, quiet sobs, though no less mournful.

‘Nightingale, begin a coding rage. All standby power to the engines, get us to Outpost 73 in four hours.’

‘The earliest I can arrive at that destination, whilst maintaining all functions needed to the crew, would be in four hours and thirty-seven minutes.’

‘If you cut out some of the lights in the engine hatches, how would that help?’

‘That would mean you arrive in four hours and three minutes, Leon,’ the ship said.

‘Get it done. Guys, it would appear that Duma has gone rogue, he’s snapped and is prowling the ship. The number one priority is to get him restrained. Take him alive if possible, dead if you absolutely have to. Duma, if you are listening…’ Leon couldn’t continue on with what he was going to say. He didn’t think he could ever sum up what he wanted to say. His mission had fallen into tatters, his ship was limping home, his crew was coming unstitched and unhinged, and one had had her life forcefully taken from her like a butchered animal. It stopped, once and for all.