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Short Tales of Terror (1): Quarantined Space
Posted By: Chuckles
Date: 25 September 2005, 10:08 am
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Short Tales of Terror (1): Quarantined Space
QUARANTINED SPACE: Specific areas of space declared off-limits by the UNSC for both military and civilian ships. On April 24, 2477 the entire crew of the UNSC cruiser Malta disappeared during a three minute jump through uncharted space. When three search and rescue ships met the same unexplained fate, the UN quickly passed a law giving them the power to quarantine. In order to guard against overuse, the law stated that this drastic step could be taken only after an area had three or more deadly and unexplained incidents. Thus, in the seventy-five years since the law was created, only three regions of space earned the dubious distinction. They are so rare, in fact, that most UNSC Captains serve their entire careers without having to make a single course-correction due to a quarantined zone.
Dark, twisted dreams slowly dissolved, swirling into a vortex around him and filling the air until he could no longer breathe. Breaking away from the whole, a small part of him began to laugh. So this will be the end of the great Daniel Blaine—choking to death on a dream? The voice began laughing so hard that it had to pause. Breathe! Breathe, stupid! Isn't that something that all ODST's can do? Then suck in some air and get into the fight! Again, Danny's lungs strained to take a breath, but it was no use. Now desperate, his body began to convulse with painful, would-be coughs. That's it, Danny boy! Gotta get that snake out of your windpipe before you can get any air in! Oh, I love to see you like this!
Blaine's eyes suddenly opened, first to an unfocused blur, and then to a wide, toothy grin. His body pitched forward violently in another panicked attempt to pull in air—and this time he felt the cryo-inhalant move a fraction of a centimeter up his throat. Strong hands pulled him out of the open tube, balanced him upright and then delivered a powerful blow to his naked abdomen. Thick, green liquid exploded out of his mouth in a long, unbroken line.
"That's it, Danny boy!" Again, the voice dissolved into laughter. Blaine coughed violently for nearly a minute before spitting up the last of the inhalant. He began to fall forward, but hands again took hold of him, this time leading him to a bench. Connor O'Neil could not wipe the smile off of his face as he looked at his shivering, naked friend. "Yes indeed, you are a sight! As much as I hate to spoil this perfect moment, I'm afraid you have to clean up and get dressed. Today we get a rare treat."
Blaine placed his elbows on top of his legs, hunched his head towards the floor and concentrated on breathing. "I don't know, Connie, it'd be hard to top this."
"I'll let you decide that one." O'Neil sat down on the bench to Danny's left. "The Celeste's AI woke the Captain about an hour ago. It seems we've gone a bit off course . . . and into quarantined space. Oooh, this could get spooky!"
"Quarantine?" Blaine looked up. "Which one?"
"Allentown, Hendricks and White." Connor had always thought it a bit ghoulish of the UN to name the quarantined areas for the ships involved, in this case a UNSC frigate and two small civilian vessels; but it did serve to drive the point home.
Daniel sat up in surprise. "That one? Wow."
"Yeah, exactly what I thought, Danny boy." O'Neil chuckled, making his flat belly shake. "It's the one I'd have chosen, I mean, if we'd had our pick. Traipsing around the galaxy in this dreary little frigate has been the most boring nine months of my short life. Thank God something's finally happened."
Blaine shook his head and then looked at his friend with mock fear. "If the stories about this place are true Connie, I don't think God is the one you ought to be thanking."
"Chilling Dan, positively chilling. Now get dressed—we're already overdo for the bridge."
"The bridge?" Blaine asked as he stood to his feet. Connor nodded.
"Yes indeed. The Captain himself sent me to wake you. Apparently," O'Neil said in a playfully ominous tone, "the Devil couldn't wait to get started. Something has already happened, and judging from the tremor in the Captain's voice, it's something pretty cute." Connor smiled. "With the Devil about, us ODST's are finally needed again. 'Feet first into Hell,' without even using an HEV! Like I said Danny boy, we're in for a real treat."
Ten minutes later, Blaine and O'Neil arrived on the bridge in their full gear. Captain Mickey Harmon stood in the back of the room, staring at a small video display on the wall. The Communications Officer, Lieutenant Bonnie Horowitz, stood to his right, holding a hand over her mouth like a teenager watching scary movie. In the haste to get to her station, the beautiful young woman had uncharacteristically put her long, blonde hair in a ponytail. Connor, who had a weakness for blondes, long hair and ponytails, smiled as he nodded his approval. Quarantined space? So far, so good. After a few moments the Captain turned his head.
"Sergeant Blaine," he quickly waved the two ODST's over, "It's about time."
"Sir, my apologies for the delay. I have a slight reaction to cryo—"
"No time for that son." The Captain ran a hand through his short, black hair. "I'm certain Sergeant O'Neil has informed you that we've somehow entered quarantined space. Our worthless AI decided to yank me out of cryo after it was too late. I guess that was easier than steering us clear," he looked up, now addressing the AI directly, "huh, Mary?" A thin, ghostly apparition appeared behind him. The barely visible face was expressionless; her eyes nose and mouth like holes cut in a sheet for Halloween. Mary's tone was as flat as her expression.
"Captain, as I have already pointed out, the error was systemic. Core references were altered, thus altering our perceived position. I woke you the moment the error reversed itself. With respect, Captain, we have yet to complete the Malta Protocol. Perhaps we could discuss this later?"
Blaine shook his head. "The Malta Protocol?"
"It's a checklist." Harmon said impatiently, "Full of things we have to catalogue and examine before exiting the quarantine zone. It's also the reason I woke you two from cryo. The first step in the protocol is a visual inspection of the entire ship, so half an hour ago I sent men to search the decks. One of them failed to return. I tried to use the ship's surveillance to see what had happened, but every camera in that area is out. Now that's strange, because every other camera in the ship is working fine. I sent two more men into the area, but they also disappeared." He pointed towards the video screen on the wall. "That's from a camera in the helmet of my XO. A couple of minutes before you arrived, I sent him with nine heavily armed men." Harmon gave Blaine a scolding look. "Now, that was supposed to be you leading those men, soldier, so you had better pray to God that he makes it out of there alive."
Suddenly the voice of his XO, Lieutenant James Zorch, crackled from the COM on the bridge. "Captain, we're almost there. It's just ahead."
Daniel leaned forward and looked at the screen. "Sir, what area is it?"
"Aft 'C' deck." And then giving the ODST a you-are-not-going-to-believe-this look, he added, "The morgue."
"Okay, it's just around the corner up here." Metallic clicks filled the COM as everyone behind Lieutenant Zorch chambered a round. The image on the small screen crawled slowly forward, with the tip of the XO's shotgun barrel barely visible at the bottom. The camera came up to the turn, began to peak around the corner—and the video screen went blank.
Harmon cast a stoic glance at Lieutenant Horowitz. "Check the connection." Before Bonnie could even acknowledge the order, a horrible scream blared from the COM, followed immediately by more screams—and then a sudden, jarring silence as the audio went dead.
The Captain tapped his COM. "Jimmy? Hello? Are you there? Jimmy?" Silence. He turned to the ODST's standing next to him and they immediately noticed a change. The tired informality Harmon had shown only moments before had vanished, replaced now by the calm efficiency of a seasoned officer.
"The morgue is located," Bonnie handed him a data pad and he pointed to a map of the ship on the screen, "right here. Other than ourselves, only my XO and twelve members of the Celeste's security force have been roused from cryo. Do you two know the men on Sergeant Brunink's security team by sight?"
They both nodded. "Yes, sir." After nine long months, they knew everyone by sight.
"Good. If you see anybody else walking around, use lethal force. I don't care who it is: kill them without hesitation."
"Yes, sir."
The Captain placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Son, I wish I had some more men to send with you."
"With respect, sir, I think the two of us will be plenty." Danny wanted to say that sending two ODST's was not only overkill, but also downright unfair to whatever it was they were going to fight. Unfortunately, such a statement would be taken as disrespect for the team Harmon had already sent. But Blaine did not mean any disrespect. Brunink's men were good soldiers, but sometimes 'good' is not enough. Sometimes you need ODST's.
Sometimes you need the best.
Less than five minutes later, Blaine and O'Neil stepped out of an elevator and on to 'C' deck. Some parts of the ship rotated to simulate gravity, and some did not. Thankfully, this was one of the areas that did. Both soldiers turned and looked to the aft of the ship, towards their objective. Just over one hundred meters ahead, the hallway they were standing in made a ninety-degree turn to port. The morgue's entrance was located immediately around the corner to the right. In order to get there, the ODST's would have to walk past three intersecting-hallways and almost fifty doors. Nothing about this mission would be quick.
With Danny on the right and Connor on the left, they made their way slowly down the hall. Every corner and doorway was approached with great caution, as if it concealed an enemy. For the first time in their nine-month deployment, Blaine gave thought to the color of the walls: something in-between gray and green. The degree to which their black armor differentiated from their surroundings had to be taken into account, so the matter was far from trivial. Sad fact was, whatever name this color went by, they stuck out like missing teeth in a toothy grin. As they approached the halfway point, Blaine stopped.
"Okay, Connie, I'm going to take a look."
About three meters behind him, his partner also came to a stop. "Roger that. I've got your six." Danny pulled out a pair of binoculars and studied the corner nearly fifty meters ahead.
"I don't see anything. No blood, no bodies, no nothing."
O'Neil chuckled. "Sounds like you're disappointed."
"No, but judging from those screams . . . I guess I expected to see something." As if in response to his words, every light in the hallway suddenly went out. "I know, Connie—I should've kept my mouth shut." Danny waited for the sarcastic reply, but instead heard a loud, sickening 'crack', followed by a soft gurgling sound. "Connie?" Instinctively, he turned to check on him, but the hallway was still black as pitch. Even though his helmet usually took only a few seconds to switch to night-vision, Blaine found himself in total darkness for the better part of a minute. Finally able to see, he turned to get a visual on Connor—and his blood went cold. His partner had vanished.
"Connie?" The gurgling continued for several seconds and then ended in the long, wet rattle of escaping air. Danny was well acquainted with the sights and sounds of death, having spent over a decade as an ODST, so he knew that he had just heard the death rattle of his best friend. Taking a deep breath, he tried to push it aside. Continue the mission. Fight now, grieve later.
"Captain," Blaine said, somehow keeping his voice from shaking, "I've just lost O'Neil." Seconds passed, but there was no reply. "Captain?" Again he waited and again heard only silence. "Can anyone hear me?" Dead air delivered the answer with cold, silent finality. Danny was about to start moving when he heard a faint, ghostly voice speak through the COM; the words flowing together like a toneless, whispered song.
"I heeeear yoooou, Danneeeee Booooy." It was Connie's voice. Blaine glanced up and down the hall, which suddenly looked eerie and haunted in the grainy black and white of his night vision. For the first time since high school, he felt the icy grip of fear.
"C-Connie?" Almost before the word left his lips, he regretted saying it. Connor O'Neil was dead. Whoever was speaking through his COM, was not him. Even so, the reply sent chills down his spine.
"Yessss. It'sssss sooo coooold innnn heeeeere. Pleeeeeeze hurreeeeee." A wonderful, lifelong friendship had just been reduced to baiting and cruel mockery. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, balled his right hand into a fist and then slammed it bitterly into the wall beside him.
"Ooooh, I looooooove to seeeeee yoooou liiiike thisssssss."
Suddenly, a powerful, smoldering anger began to engulf Danny, pushing aside his fear and bringing clarity to his mind. Oh, you're gonna pay dearly for that. He slung his battle rifle behind his back, grabbed his shotgun and then chambered a round. Blaine considered telling the filth on the other side of the COM what he thought of him and his cowardly tactics, but decided against it. Even in his youth, Danny had never been much of a trash-talker. He found it much more satisfying to let his actions do the talking for him—and his actions could talk with profound eloquence.
Again, Blaine started moving down the hall, using the same caution he had before. But as the corner drew closer, keeping a firm hold on his mind became more and more difficult. Although his night-vision gear was excellent, the total darkness surrounding him tested its operational limits. Phantom images appeared on the screen for fractions of a second at a time as the software fought to discern the surroundings. For a man who had been yanked from cryo-sleep and listened to his best friend die in the span of an hour, these visual anomalies became a waking nightmare. More than once, Dan thought he saw a twisted, leering face peak around the corner by the morgue. Phantom arms waved, ghostly apparitions appeared in his peripheral vision and, most troubling of all, he swore that he kept seeing Connie moving up the other side of the hallway.
Finally, there were no more doors or intersecting hallways to pass. Now nothing but ten meters of empty space stood before him and his objective. Stopping for a moment, Blaine took a deep breath. This is it. You're an ODST and this piece of crap killed your partner. Take him apart. Do it for Connie.
With renewed focus, Danny moved forward along the right side of the hallway, finally stopping at the end of the wall. Standing at the corner, he sucked in a deep breath and prepared to go around. Even with his night vision gear, Blaine could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped his shotgun. One, two, three—
Danny whipped around the corner and leveled his weapon . . . at empty space. No blood, no bodies, nothing. Suddenly he heard ghostly, whispered laughter in his helmet. Again, fear threatened to paralyze him, and again he reached for anger. He remembered Connie as a kid, banging on his door before sunrise on Christmas morning to show him what he'd got. He remembered going from restaurant to restaurant the night they graduated from high school, wearing their gowns like Halloween costumes. He could still remember the look on Connie's face when he found out that they had both made it into the ODST's. And most of all, he remembered the final, pointless death of the best friend any guy could hope for. On the right side of the hallway just a few meters away, the entrance to the morgue loomed like a doorway to Hell. Just like you promised, Connie; feet first with no HEV.
Setting aside all caution, Blaine ran to the door, yanked it open and walked in. Since the remains of most enlisted men were released into space, only three bodies had been placed in the morgue during their nine-month deployment. But as he looked at the three-tiered racks that ran along the wall to his left and right, his mouth dropped open. Every man the Captain had sent lay upon on the racks; grotesque, twisted and dead. With arms dangling and legs jutting into the aisle, the bodies looked as if they had been tossed hastily upon the cold steel by the hands of a careless god. At the far end of the room, the naked body of a civilian who had died aboard the ship several months before, lay upon the floor like a discarded suit. As Danny stared at the corpse through the grainy, gray eyes of his night vision equipment, he came to a horrible realization: it was a discarded suit.
Suddenly, Blaine saw movement behind the racks on the far right side of the room. A helmeted figure walked into the aisle, stepped over the body and stopped about two meters in front of him. With stiff robotic movements, the arms slowly removed the helmet; painfully confirming what Danny had already guessed.
Connie's dead face leered at him with wide eyes, a crooked smile and joyful malice. The obviously broken neck tilted sideways so far that it almost rested on the right shoulder. As he looked at the articulated body of his best friend, a lump formed in Blaine's throat. Everything told him that he was staring at Connor O'Neil—everything except the expression. It was cruel, hateful, demonic—evil.
Once again, the voice of his dead friend whispered in his helmet. "Hellooooo, Danneeeee boooooy." The Connor-thing smiled wider and stared at him with dry, dead eyes. Turning sideways, it pointed a stiff finger towards the naked body in the aisle. "Yooour bodeeez laaaasssst oooonleeeee aaaaaa sshoooort tiiiiiime." It turned back towards Danny and looked him over as if he were a suit and slacks. "Thaaaat iiiiiissssssss whyyyyyyyy weeeeeee neeeeeeed sooooooo maaaaaaneeee of yooooooou. Buuuut fiiiiiirst yoooou muuuuust diiiiiiiiie." It took a single, grotesque step towards Blaine. "Wiiiithoooooooout bodeeeez weeeeeee haaaaaave noooothiiiiing."
The voice, which up until now had been a ghostly, toneless whisper, changed; and Danny had no reference for it. It was the voice of fire and wind and thunder and crashing waves; of the deafening silence of empty space and the bottomless rumble of colliding planets: all at once, and as focused as a laser-beam.
"But with them we have everything. They wear out, but we do not. Our time in them is short. We need all of you." Suddenly an expression came across it's face: an expression that man in his frailty was never meant to witness or endure. Danny could feel the life wither within him, like ice dangled over flame. It spoke again, and it's voice shook the metal racks around them.
"Ruin! So little time to ruin! Because you are weak, our time for ruin is short!"
An odd question suddenly occurred to Blaine, entering his mind with such force that he could not help but open his mouth and ask. "But," Danny said, somehow finding the power to speak, "why I am still alive? Why are you telling me this?" Ultimately, it did not matter where the question had come from, or why Blaine had even thought to ask it. What mattered was that it was the right question. A genuine look of confusion twisted across the thing's face, and it was immediately clear that it had no answer. Then, during it's moment of doubt, the deadly stare lifted—if only for a few seconds. But this thing would learn what thousands of dead enemies had already found out: a few seconds is all an ODST needs.
The doubt passed, the deadly look returned, and again Danny could feel his life dissolving away. Even so, as the ODST Sergeant managed to look his enemy straight in the eye and crack a final, cocky smile. Goodbye. He opened his hands and two grenades dropped to the floor, rolled towards the Connor-thing and stopped at it's feet. It looked down, and again, it's expression spoke volumes. Yes, it was afraid of grenades; yes, it could die.
Blaine saw a bright flash, felt a concussive force and then . . . nothing. He found himself floating in a soft, silent void. The dark, twisted dream slowly dissolved, swirling into a vortex around him and filling the air until he could no longer breathe. Breaking away from the whole, a small part of him began to laugh. So this will be the end of the great Daniel Blaine—choking to death on a dream? The voice began laughing so hard that it had to pause. Breathe! Breathe, stupid! Isn't that something that all ODST's can do? Then suck in some air and get into the fight! Again, Danny's lungs strained to take a breath, but it was no use. Now desperate, his body began to convulse with painful, would-be coughs. That's it, Danny boy! Gotta get that snake out of your windpipe before you can get any air in! Oh, I love to see you like this!
Blaine's eyes suddenly opened, first to an unfocused blur, and then to a wide, toothy grin. His body pitched forward violently in another panicked attempt to pull in air—and this time he felt the cryo-inhalant move a fraction of a centimeter up his throat. Strong hands pulled him out of the open tube, balanced him upright and then delivered a powerful blow to his naked abdomen. Thick, green liquid exploded out of his mouth in a long, unbroken line.
"That's it, Danny boy!" Again, the voice dissolved into laughter. Blaine coughed violently for nearly a minute before spitting up the last of the inhalant. He began to fall forward, but hands again took hold of him, this time leading him to a bench. Connor O'Neil could not wipe the smile off of his face as he looked at his shivering, naked friend. "Yes indeed, you are a sight! As much as I hate to spoil this perfect moment, I'm afraid you have to clean up and get dressed. Today we get a rare treat."
Blaine placed his elbows on top of his legs, hunched his head towards the floor and concentrated on breathing. "I don't know, Connie, it'd be hard to top this."
"I'll let you decide that one." O'Neil sat down on the bench to Danny's left. "The Celeste's AI woke the Captain about an hour ago. It seems we've gone a bit off course . . . and into quarantined space. Oooh, this could get spooky!" Blaine looked up, and his expression caused Connor to lean backwards.
"Quarantine? Did the Captain send you to get me?"
Connor gave him a strange look. "Yeah, Danny. Apparently something strange has already happened. You feeling okay?"
Oh God, how could this be? "Yeah, I'm fine. Call the Captain, Connie. Tell him I'm aware of the situation and to have all of his men stay on the bridge. Me and you can handle it alone."
"But Danny, I—"
"Do it now!"
O'Neil gave him a funny look, nodded and then contacted Harmon. By the time he was through, Blaine had already geared up.
"Well, that was quick even for you. So where are we off to, my psychic friend?"
Blaine pointed towards a table across the room. "Grab me that data pad." Connor snapped off a crisp, mocking salute.
"Yes, sir!" The moment he turned his back, Danny's fist crashed into the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Moving quickly, Blaine caught his friend and laid him gently on the floor.
"Sorry, Connie," he said as tears began to fill his eyes and run down his cheeks, "but you can't come, not this time. Goodbye, old friend." He had knelt down as a grieving, emotional man saying farewell to a life-long friend.
He stood up an ODST.
Eyes clear and focused, gear packed and ready, he headed towards the morgue. It was time to die, time to kill—time to ruin.
C.T. Clown
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