Adam Baker - Outpost

‘So who do you think he was? What happened up there?’

She stood in front of Ghost.

‘What do you think it is?’ she asked, holding the sliver in front of Ghost’s face.

He shied away from the gleaming splinter.

‘Where does it come from? Is it man-made? Nanobots run wild? Maybe it’s not from earth at all. Maybe it came from somewhere else.’ She gestured to Hyperion passengers fused to the wall. ‘Do you think they finally understand? Once you surrender to it, once the transformation takes hold, do you think it all becomes clear? What it’s like on the other side? Aren’t you curious to find out?’

‘No.’

‘How can you not want to know? This is the dominant life form on the planet now.’

‘Doesn’t mean shit. It’s a virus. Bacteria. It can kill, but I don’t hold it in high esteem.’

‘This is very different.’

‘These Hyperion guys. They follow you like a puppy dog. How does that work?’

Nikki took a radio from her pocket. A Rampart walkie-talkie. She switched it on. A strange, tocking signal. Nikki held the radio to the dead cosmonaut’s helmet. The signal got louder, more insistent, then dissolved to feedback.

‘They sing to each other. Some kind of high-frequency chatter. They merge their thoughts.’

‘I don’t see much thought going on.’

Nikki stood behind Nail. She slapped a hand on his bald scalp and pulled back his head. He yelped in pain. She dropped the sliver of metal into his mouth then clamped his jaw closed. He gnashed his teeth. He bucked and thrashed in his chair. He arched his back. She held him a full minute, then released her grip. He spat the metal shard on to the floor.

‘You fuck,’ he sobbed. ‘You fucking fuck.’ He retched. He spat. Pathetic attempt to purge infection from his mouth.

Nikki grabbed a swivel chair and positioned it in front of Ghost.

‘His name isn’t Nail Harper, you know that, right? He’s David Tuddenham. A fuck-up. Petty thief. Petty everything. But now all that hurt, all that damage, will evaporate. A lifetime of failure will just melt away.’

‘You’re nuts,’ said Ghost. ‘You are one hundred per cent, grade-A batshit.’

‘Think,’ said Nikki. She got up, and paced up and down like she was lecturing a class. ‘Just take a moment and think. This situation, this new state of being, it’s weird, but is it necessarily bad? This could be a wonderful opportunity to become something new. That’s good, right? Most people spend their whole lives wishing they could be different.’

‘You were a student in Brighton, is that right? Brighton University?’

‘Sure.’

‘What did you study?’

‘Biogeography,’ said Nikki. ‘Ocean science. Ecosystems.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Of course. That’s why I did it.’

‘Think back. Remember. What did you enjoy?’

‘Nightlife. Alan and I had a flat on the seafront. It was heaven.’

‘Do you remember your first day at university? The day you first arrived. Do you remember how you felt?’

‘My parents dropped me with suitcases. I was excited to leave home. Nervous I wouldn’t make friends.’

‘That girl. The person you used to be. Can you remember her? Can you bring her back just for a moment? What would she say if she saw you now?’

Nikki snapped another nugget of metal from inside the cosmonaut’s enamel helmet. She looked at it a long while.

‘I’m so sick of being me.’

‘I can help you, Nikki. There’s a way back from all this.’ ‘The burden of selfhood,’ she sighed. ‘Life-long anguish. Straining to support an elaborate artifice every waking moment. Trying to maintain our bullshit personas. Haircuts, clothes. Making our big fucking statements to an indifferent world. We drink, we smoke, we squander fortunes on DVDs, anything to escape ourselves for a few blessed minutes.’

‘You don’t have to turn Martian just to feel better. That’s like shooting yourself in the brain to cure a headache.’

Nikki closed her eyes, placed the globule of metal on her tongue and swallowed. She smiled.

She stood over Nail. She bent and kissed him.

She resumed her seat in front of Ghost.

‘I’m so sorry, Nikki.’

‘I wanted to kill you. I was going to kill you all. I hated you so damn much. I don’t know why. But I want you to join us. I’m not going to force you. Nail? He’s a child. I had to decide on his behalf. But I want you folks to volunteer.’

Jane walked through a series of plant rooms. Most of the ceiling lights were smashed. She wanted to save her flashlight batteries. She struck a flare. It burned fierce purple.

Ventilation flues. Dehumidification filters.

The air conditioning was shot. The plenum fans that should have pushed air through the complex were rusted and still. Yet, when she took off a glove and put a hand to the wall-vent, she could feel a breath of wind.

She found the canteen. Metal tables and chairs. A communist mural of heroic agricultural workers holding sickles and scythes, gazing towards a golden dawn. She got tired of searching.

‘Punch,’ she shouted. ‘Where are you, dude?’

Jane stepped into the corridor. She was faced by a dozen Hyperion passengers. They stood the length of the passageway, lit by flickering strip-light.

Jane backed away from the stink of piss and rotting flesh. A dozen ravaged faces. A dozen pairs of jet-black eyes. She expected the foul creatures to attack. They stood quite still, as if awaiting instructions.

They shrank back into darkened doorways. A clear invitation for Jane to proceed.

Nikki approached the situation board, a flickering, back-lit map of the western hemisphere. A figure was fused to the glass by metal filaments.

‘She’s here,’ murmured Rye, slowly lifting her head. Metal tendrils from her eye sockets. She was plugged in to the walls, plugged in to the collective conscious, monitoring the inhabitants of the bunker with strange new senses. ‘She’s outside the door.’

Nikki turned to face the entrance.

Jane looked around the ops centre. Ghost, Punch and Nail lashed to chairs. Bodies melded to the walls and ceiling. Jane looked up. An old woman spread-eagled on the ceiling directly above her head. The woman gently squirmed, like she was trying to work out how she came to be pinned to the roof.

Nikki at the centre of it all, hands in her pockets, smiling a welcoming smile.

Jane glanced at Ghost and Punch. Quick inspection for injury or infection.

‘Good to see you, Jane,’ said Ghost.

‘You guys all right?’

‘Punch is all right. I’m fine. Don’t think Nail will be coming home.’

Nail sobbed. The big man snivelled and drooled snot.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ said Nikki.

‘That’s sweet.’

Jane edged around the room. She held the flare like she was warding off a vampire. Spitting, fizzing purple flame. Wax dripped over her gloved hand.

She dug in her pocket with her left hand and took out her lock-knife. She flicked open the blade with her thumb and handed it to Ghost. He cut his wrists free then released his ankles. He quickly shook and stretched to restore circulation.

‘I want to talk to you,’ said Nikki. ‘Just talk.’

‘Sure,’ said Jane, super-calm, placating a lunatic. ‘Fire away.’

‘I want you to stay with us. Europe is a radioactive cinder. There’s nothing for you back home. Just death and ruins. But there’s a place for you here, a place to belong. Call Sian. She can stay too.’

‘Sure she’ll appreciate the sentiment.’

Ghost cut Punch free and helped him to his feet. He dropped the knife in Nail’s lap.

‘Hey. Nail. Do yourself a favour. Slit your throat while you have the chance.’