Harry Knight - Slimer

Alex suddenly snapped his fingers and said, ‘Remote control.’

Paul looked at him blankly. ‘What?’

‘Remote control. That’s how they ran that crane routine. I’ll bet all the equipment around here can be operated by remote control,’ he said triumphantly, sounding like his usual self again. Then he pointed. ‘And look. That’s how they saw us.’

Paul looked in the direction Alex was pointing. He saw what appeared to be a small TV camera attached to a pole near the crane.

‘And there’s another one!’ cried Alex, pointing towards the circular helicopter landing pad that extended out from the far comer of the roof.

Paul nodded. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But that doesn’t explain why they haven’t made an appearance yet.’

Alex shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s only one caretaker on the rig and he’s busy or something. How should I know?’ ‘Come on’ said Rochelle, ‘let’s go find out before my tits fall off from the cold.’ The wind was whipping her pink-streaked hair and her lips were almost the same colour as the small blue jewel on the side of her nose. Paul couldn’t help glancing down at her nipples which were clearly visible — hard and swollen — behind the thin fabric of her shirt.

He grinned and nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll go down to the next deck and see if we can find a way inside.’ He gestured towards the top of the ladder that led to the deck below. ‘Alex, why don’t you and Ro lead the way?’ Alex seemed to be about to argue for a moment but then apparently changed his mind. ‘Okay,’ he grunted. ‘Come on Ro.’ '

As Alex disappeared from view down the ladder Paul turned to Mark and Chris. ‘You go next, Linda and I’ll bring up the rear.’ But Mark wasn’t listening. He was staring up at the empty driver’s cabin on the crane. Paul realised he didn’t look well. There was a darkness under his eyes and his cheeks seemed sunken. ‘Hey, Mark, you in there?’

Mark blinked and looked round at him. Paul didn’t like the look of him. In all the years he’d known him Mark had never been particularly healthy but now he was a physical wreck. His weight was down to about nine and a half stone and his skin had a yellowish pallor to it. It wasn’t just due to the privations of the last three days; Mark had been losing weight before the shipwreck. Paul had tried to find out what was wrong with him but everytime he brought the subject up Mark had sidestepped it.

‘Mark? Are you okay?’

‘Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m okay.’ He returned his gaze to the crane cabin. ‘Paul,’ he added quietly, ‘There was something in the overalls up there.’

Paul frowned, ‘/n the overalls? What do you mean?’ ‘They were full of slime. Black slime. Horrible stuff. That’s where the stink was coming from…’

Chris was looking at him worriedly now. ‘Mark, are you sure you feel okay?’

‘What do you think it was?’ asked Mark, ignoring her. ‘The slime? Probably just grease,’ said Paul. ‘That’s what overalls are for — to get grease on. And this is an oil rig after all…’

‘But inside ?’

‘It probably just soaked through. Mark, why are you making such a big production over a bit of grease?’

‘You don’t understand,’ persisted Mark, shaking his head. ‘It wasn’t just…’ At this point he was interrupted by a yell from Alex. ‘Hey, you guys! Come on down! We found a way in!’

‘Okay! We’re coming!’ Paul yelled back. Then he turned back to Mark and said, impatiently, ‘Well? What were you going to say?’

Mark sighed. ‘Forget it. It was nothing. Just my imagination I guess.’ He gave the crane one last look then headed for the ladder. Chris hurried after him.

He’s definitely close to cracking up, thought Paul sombrely as he followed them.

When he arrived on the catwalk below he saw the others were gathered around an open door looking pleased with themselves. ‘Voila!’ cried Linda, indicating the doorway with a flourish as he approached.

He looked inside. He found himself staring down a short, featureless corridor that ended with a black, opaque glass door. That’s odd, he thought. He didn’t really know what he expected to see but it certainly wasn’t this.

‘Still no sign of any welcoming committee,’ he muttered, ‘I guess we might as well go in.’ Heentered the corridor and walked along to the glass door. The others followed him.

There was no handle on the door but there was a red button set in the wall beside it. ‘Push it,’ said Mark. ‘It might be the doorbell.’

Paul pushed it. The door slid silently open — to reveal yet another similar door some six feet away. At the same time a panel in the ceiling began to produce an intense violet light.

‘Weird,’ said Alex.

Enveloped by the bright, eerie glow from above Paul walked along to the next door. There was another button beside it so he pushed it. Nothing happened.

As the others crowded in behind him Mark said nervously, ‘You think this light is safe? I can actually feel it on my skin.’

Paul kept pushing the button. ‘It’s some sort of sterilising device, I think. Though what it’s doing on an oil rig is beyond me.’

‘Steriliser?’ Alex gave a forced laugh. ‘Huh, if my balls turn green Brinkstone is gonna hear from my lawyers. Open that damn door, will you.?’

‘It won’t open,’ said Paul helplessly.

‘Perhaps we have to close the other one first,’ suggested Linda. She was examining the wall. ‘There’s another button back here. Shall I give it a go?’

Paul hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped between the two doors, especially with that light shining on them — it was making his skin tingle too. But finally he said, ‘Yeah. Push it.’

The outer door slid shut behind them. Paul tried the other button again. To his relief the door opened. And the violet light switched off.

Ahead stretched a long, gleaming white corridor illuminated by fluorescent strip lighting. It reminded Paul of a hospital. There was even a strong whiff of disinfectant in the air.

They stared down the corridor in silent wonder. Then Mark said, ‘I’m beginning to think this is no ordinary oil rig.’

‘Congratulations,’ sneered Alex. ‘That must have used up a lot of grey cells, dickhead.’

‘What is this place then?’ asked Linda.

‘You’ve got me,’ admitted Paul.

Unexpectedly Rochelle let loose a piercing yell that made them all jump. 'Hey! Is anybody home?!’

Her voice echoed down the corridor then faded away. There was no response.

‘Jesus, warn me before you do that again, you bitch,’ muttered Alex.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Chris worriedly. ‘It’s creepy. There’s something wrong here. I can sense it.’

‘We don’t need any of your psychic stuff just now, okay?’ said Paul, more curtly than he meant to. ‘We’re all feeling jumpy enough without you having to pile on the agony.’ It was one of the things that annoyed him about Chris. If she wasn’t going on about ecology, natural food and the industrial rape of the environment she was waffling on about astrology and her psychic powers. She and Mark had spent a month last summer trekking up and down the countryside following the routes of so-called ‘ley-lines’ which she swore she could feel. She and Mark made a good pair. Both were a bit loony in their way.

‘Come on,’ he said brusquely, ‘let’s go find someone who can tell us what all this is about.’ He strode off purposefully and knocked loudly on the first door he came to. There was no reply so he tried the handle. The white-painted door opened. He looked inside.