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= NEBULA EXPRESS =

a DarkSF novel

by John Argo

Page 9.

Chapter Five

When they arrived at Ring 61. Ridge was relieved to see lights and hear music. They emerged from oceans of darkness on all sides into an island of light that seemed suspended in gloomy midair.

"What was that all about back there?" Tomson asked. The self-assured sneer was back on his strong, dark visage.

"Temporary insanity," Jerez said as she strode confidently up the last few yards of steel and onto the main platform under a row of large bluish-white lights. The music was common, universal rock stock, the kind one heard in every city of the world, and which had been playing in WorkPod01 as they got ready for the day's work.

The catwalk broadened and opened onto a wide ledge that curved outward toward them as they drew near. In the curving wall some 25 feet beyond the ledge were caves. Narrow-gauge rail tracks ran out of the largest cave and stopped halfway across the ledge. The ends of the two tracks were twisted upward and deformed, as if they had begun to melt long ago. The heat that had caused that was long gone. Ridge stepped onto the ledge with his gun in one hand and a light in the other. Heart pounding, he licked his dry lips and stared from side to side. The ground here was like rock, as though part of the ship had melted and poured inward, covering the metal grating that was partially visible through the long-cold slag. Dust was everywhere, covering bits of broken machinery, casually thrown rocks, debris too desiccated from age to be recognizable.

"Look," Mahaffey said, pointing to a spot where the uneven wall sloped down to the ledge. With the pounding rock music and its frenzied, indecipherable words, Ridge was startled to see the hollow eyes of a human skull peeking from the dust. Mughali walked over in her bulky suit and nudged the ground around the skull with her boot. "It's old," she said simply. "No smell of putrefaction. No traces of flesh or skin on it." She knelt down. "Tomson, look at this." She pointed with a delicate finger along the temple region of the skull.

Ridge and Tomson walked up behind her to look. Ridge kept an eye on the cave entrance and had his gun ready. Tomson knelt down beside Mughali. "Wow, look at that," Tomson said wonderingly. His larger finger traced along a curving mark, following her smaller and more delicate finger. "That's a fracture," he said. "Looks like something bit into this person's head."

Ridge looked over their shoulders and noted that the edges of the fracture were about the same grayish hue as the surfaces of the skull. "It's old," he said. "Any more information?"

Tomson ran a probing hand around the skull, pushing dust away. He shook his head, rising. "The rest of the body is elsewhere. Someone or something carried the head here and set it down or threw it down, maybe to..." He stopped and gave Ridge a worried look. "Maybe to gnaw on it."

Ridge scratched his head. "Great." He glanced at the other staff members. Yu, Lantz, Mahaffey, Brenna, and Jerez stood huddled together on the edge, as if ready to bolt back across the catwalk into the darkness from which they had come. "Come on and join the fun," he said, waving his arm. He pointed to the cave. "I'm going to take a look in there."

Yu looked angry and confused. "Where is the work area? What is this place?"

Ridge said: "I'll let you know as soon as I get more information from Captain Venable." He turned to Tomson. "You stay with them. I'll go into the cave. Probably just a misunderstanding. I'm sure our work area is in there someplace."

Tomson said: "You sure we have the right coordinates?"

Ridge nodded. "I've checked and double checked. This was supposed to be a power relay station, and we should be seeing people from WorkPod09 around here, checking circuits while we extract, test, and reset the more complicated wetware and biocybernetics." He shook his head, but that did not clear his thinking. "Keep an eye on them," he said simply, "I'm going in." He told the group: "Just stand down for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

"Be careful," Brenna said with concern, folding her arms around herself as if she were cold, though it was relatively warm and the air had a kind of damp, ripe balminess to it. Ridge could see she was shivering. He wanted to embrace her, hold her, tell her everything was all right, but it didn't seem like something he should do. Jerez and Mahaffey didn't look much happier than Brenna. Yu was a stronger, more reserved and analytical type, and he took his place by Tomson's side. Mughali offered: "I'll go with you," but Ridge waved her back.

The cave, when he started cautiously along the railroad tracks, curved around a bend into darkness. Stumbling over dusty objects, Ridge made his way slowly down the tunnel. The walls were steeped in darkness, but rough edges and ridges shone like black anthracite. Ridge heard Tomson's voice echo: "Are you okay in there?"

Ridge did not stop cautiously moving forward. "Yes, I'm okay so far." The music suddenly stopped.

"What's going on?" Tomson and Mughali both called out.

"The music stopped," Ridge said. He listened in the silence, feeling sweat dribbling down his temples. The gun in his slick right hand felt heavy, and the flashlight in his left wavered.

"Hear anything?" they called out.

"Be quiet so I can hear," Ridge said. Almost immediately he regretted having ordered them to be silent, because he longed to hear their voices. He was around a leftward bend now, out of their sight and out of touch. It was a lonely feeling. The tunnel curved on in a rightward bend, and he heard a faint scratching noise. He called out: "Is anyone there?" He waited. No answer. He raised the gun and flashlight and walked slowly forward.

"Talk to me," Tomson yelled from far away. Ridge ignored him. Air blew softly around him, and he smelled something putrid. Each time he caught a whiff of whatever it was, a fresh current of air blew it away.

Suddenly, the music again started playing loudly. It was an ancient rock and roll tune about cars and girls and racing. Ridge flew back against the wall, trembling, and waited. Nothing more happened. The song looped endlessly, playing the same several stanzas over and over again.

Slowly, Ridge walked forward. He was becoming angry now. What could this tomfoolery mean? He was responsible for the safety and well-being of the other seven members of his team. "I'm beginning to take this personally," he called out. "Whoever you are, I'm going to have a few issues with you when I get my hands around your neck." No answer.

Ridge timed his steps carefully on the dusty train tracks. With each step he glanced down among the debris to see where his next footfall might land, and then up again to make sure he missed nothing, should something come flying at him. He kept seeing the bloody hands of the man in the window, and then the frantic expression and the man's wide eyes as he was yanked away backward into oblivion. As the minutes passed, Ridge was beginning to doubt this was a simple matter of taking someone by the neck to straighten things out. His anger was beginning to yield to questioning and fear again. As he walked forward, he sensed that he was entering a large open space. Cooler and drier breezes blew on his face and dried the sweat on his neck.

With a crash of heavy steel breakers, a surrounding circle of blindingly bright light winked on. In the same instant, the music fell silent. Ridge almost dropped his gun and flashlight. With a yelp of pain, he brought his wrists up to his eyes and staggered backward.

"You come to help us?" a voice said. It was an odd, high voice, but firm.

"Get that light out of my face," Ridge ordered.

The light dimmed considerably. Ridge stood with olive-drab curtains of blindness floating before his eyes. Even if he were attacked now, he'd be shooting blindly. A voice said: "You can put your gun away. You're one of us." Ridge hesitated, still holding up the gun, but slipped the flashlight into a holder on his tool belt. The voice continued: "You have nothing to fear. Are there others with you?" Ridge hesitated to give information, and the voice said: "What WorkPod are you from?"

"WorkPod01," Ridge said. "I have a full crew of technicians with me. You have a name?"

"Caulfield. Are you armed?"

The voice, Ridge began to realize, was that of an elderly man. "I'm Ridge. We have several handguns."

The voice laughed. "You'll need a lot more than that, my friend." He sounded bitter. "We're out of time, Ridge. You're too late."

Ridge felt anger welling up again. He felt frustration, confusion, fear. "What the hell is going on here? We came to do a job."

"Oh yes you did," the voice said. It was an old man's voice, with a quaver in it, and a sibilant halt at the end of each phrase as if the speaker's lungs had make an effort to refill. "Come out into the center. Go on, don't be afraid. They won't go near light."

"Who won't go near light? What are you talking about?"

"Mudmen," the voice said. "They are muddled, dirty purpose-bodies built from muddy DNA and broken codons and mismatched body parts. Lots of old body parts."

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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.