The Log of the Wainwright, planetary exploration vessel PE-1608-ISD, location unchanged. Planetfall plus two. Captain Kate Malory recording.
Both Doctor Faraday and Navigation Officer Stark are missing, presumed dead. I do not know what creatures invaded the ship, and don’t particularly care. Security Officer Waite is suspiciously unharmed after a second incident. Perhaps I was wrong to so easily dismiss him from my list of suspects.
I have moved him to his quarters where he is still lying unconscious. My dreams give me pause. I feel as though my very sanity is at risk. Whatever our fate, I know that it must be fast approaching, that…
Waite? What the hell are you doing in here?
Waite blocked the doorway to her quarters, firearm raised. None of his usual composure showed in his eyes as he trained the gun on his captain. “Why did you not order the reverse thrusters sooner? Why did you wait until it was virtually too late? Did you want this? Was all of this down to you? Was it?”
Stunned by the uncharacteristic outburst and the implications of what he was saying, Malory stammered uncertainly. “I… it was an obvious choice, the… the thrusters would have been irreparably damaged if fired in the upper atmosphere…”
“But they would still have slowed our descent.
Surely surviving the landing was the main objective?”
“And we did! We did survive!”
“More by luck than judgement! And sending our most experienced engineer into an unknown environment?
Your judgement, Captain, has been sorely compromised!”
“Compromised? By what?”
Suddenly, the ship heaved. Waite was thrown against the bulkhead, his gun hitting the floor less than a second before him. Malory fared slightly better, keeping her balance by slapping a hand against the wall and bracing herself. It wasn’t that she had known what was going to happen, but rather that she knew something was about to happen, and she was certainly better prepared than the security officer had been. In the same way, though, she was suddenly certain of the saboteur’s identity. Guilt welled up inside of her. How could it be possible? How could she only now be able to recall her actions? How could knowledge this significant be hidden away, especially from herself?
She screamed, her left fist pressing to her temple as the ship lurched again and a sudden terrific pain burst into her head. The screech of metal alloys struggling to remain intact joined her exclamation of pain. The resulting cacophony, however, was no match for the bizarre keening sound that swept all others aside as it rolled across the water and into the ship, finding its target with remarkable accuracy. Waite recognised it immediately and his mind rebelled against it.
Malory stopped screaming, became suddenly composed again. Her head turned toward the back of the ship. She stood, mesmerized by the new sound, her own mind welcoming it.
Waite had by now recovered and had retrieved his pistol, hefting it in his hand as if to reassure himself of its reality. The sound hit him again, causing him to pull a sharp breath in. The odd harmony held both officers in it grip, though it appeared to affect them in very different ways.
Waite watched in horror as his superior officer dropped to her knees and chanted in a low but powerful voice. The words were meaningless, a nonsense rhyme from Hell itself. He knew for certain now that Malory had been responsible for everything. Unthinking, he pointed his gun at her chest and fired. Malory was thrown back against the wall by the shot. Smoke and blood poured from the wound. Instead of pain, however, her face reflected joy, like the expression on Saul’s face on the road to Damascus.
And then she began to change. Firstly, her face began to almost flatten out, the nose sinking and the nostrils stretching into slits. Her eyes became circular, the irises changing colour to match her pupils, the sclera becoming a dark yellow. Malory’s hair retracted into her scalp, as if to feed the increasingly rapid changes in her body.
Waite threw himself down the central corridor of the Wainwright, aiming for the perceived safety of the bridge, not wishing to witness her final transformation.
The creature that had been Kate Malory stood around seven feet tall, was grey in colour and glistened in the ship’s artificial lighting. Its head was bulbous, with a large shark-like eye at either side, just above fleshy slits that were obviously gills. The mouth was a cruel slit, as though made with a serrated knife, two rows of sharp teeth clearly visible. A ridge of hard scales ran down the animal’s spine, from the base of its skull to the prestigial tail. Muscular legs ended in large four-digit webbed feet which slapped against the deck with a horribly wet sucking sound as she walked away.
A terrible rumble accompanied another shockwave on board the Wainwright. Outside, the hills surrounding the lake had begun to collapse in on themselves, revealing the subterranean temple in all of its impossible glory. The Malory creature waded into the lowering depths of the water, to be joined by its three compatriots. Had they retained any of their humanity, they may have wondered how the great columns of the temple remained upright.
Waite scanned the various external views accessible on the bridge, watching the meeting of the creatures with a sudden and unwelcome clarity. His eyes were drawn, though, to the tumult just beyond the temple.
As the ground continued to crumble and fold in on itself, something began to emerge. The huge and implacable buildings of the strange city toppled away from the centre and formed a circle in the sand. Something massive and indescribable was tearing itself from the eldritch depths of the planet. The thing began to emerge within the circle of fallen skyscrapers, cracking the planet’s crust like a baby bird breaking free of an egg. This appeared to be the impossible source of the confused sound that had apparently called its acolytes to witness its arrival in our universe.
A desperate plan began to form in the security officer’s mind. He ran a quick diagnostic which showed barely enough power for what he had in mind. The fuel situation, however, revealed another problem. The digital gauge showed rapidly reducing fuel levels. Waite hurried to the engine room.
The access hatch had been left open – something Stark would never have stood for. Tell-tale footprints glistened around the circular opening.
He dropped to the floor beside the hatch. There was only the usual hum of the engine room to hear. He took a small torch from his utility belt, switched it on and shone its surprisingly effective beam around the room below him.
Confident that nothing untoward awaited him in the dark, Waite dropped down, eschewing the ladder as it would mean turning his back to the rest of the room.
As his feet touched the floor, an overhead light activated, triggered by a chip in the heel of his right boot.
He spotted the clumsy sabotage almost immediately. Savage claws had torn at the main feed line from the fuel tank to the engines. He ran to the back of the room, opened a small cabinet at head height, and retrieved a small aerosol can. Back at the damaged pipe, he sprayed the split with sealant. One hand covered his mouth and nose against the fumes from the leaked fuel.
Another tremor unbalanced him as he made his way to the ladder. A look backward confirmed that the repair had held and, satisfied, he scrambled up to the main deck.
As long as there remained enough fuel for one last burst, then his plan could be executed immediately.
The ship rocked again as he arrived on the bridge. He was horrified to see that the thing outside was almost completely free. Thankfully, the fuel diagnostics showed that his rapid repair job had succeeded in slowing the leak.
But would it be sufficient to allow his planned manoeuvre?
A quick burst from the ship’s thrusters slowly swung the craft around in the lowering lake so that its arrowshaped stern pointed directly at the horror unfolding on the unnamed planet. Waite sat at the helm and prayed as his fingers passed over the touch panel on the console.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
The main engines coughed and the Wainwright, now a huge missile, began to skim over the lake, gaining momentum rapidly.
“I will fear no Evil: for thou art with me…”
Waite closed his eyes. He was confident that his plan was the only one possible in the circumstances.
“Thy rod and thy staff they…”
His one regret was that he would never know if it had worked.