Substance

The leak was innocuous at first.  Base alarms went off, obviously, and we evacuated to the shuttle.  There were only six of us by this time, we were a few hours short of starting the process, and everyone else had a cleared out to the main craft, orbiting above.  Their geosynchronous position meant they could look down on us in intimate detail.

That’s how I know a lot of what happened.

Berenson was the first.  Protocol was to isolate even from each other, but he and Cathy were still in the throes of passion when the alarm went off, and they took the time to finish.  Too bad for him.

Cathy, it turned out, was as immune as I was, but for entirely different reasons.  Seems that the substance won’t attack anything with a foreign gamete in it.

I’m immune, well, for different reasons.

The others suited up as a soon as they heard the alarm.  Lees in life sciences, James was on the shuttle anyhow, and Beeston was outside.  It’s comical to think that he couldn’t lift in the suit he was in and had to change.

Well, ironic, anyway.

We met in the shuttle three minutes after the alarms went off.  Cathy, the principal engineer, sent drones down the corridors to find the source.  It wasn’t hard.  There was a valve failure.  Couldn’t happen, but it did.

The engineering on this project, how can I describe it?  Overbuilt, weird, reminiscent of the steam age?  That would be about it.  We’d hauled kilotons of material a hundred and twenty light years, give or take, to this lush planet to make one tiny tweak to the biome.  One tiny tweak that would make it compatible with our kind of life, and change all the life on it so it fit us.

It’s an arrogant project.  We know.

Turns out that alien is really alien, you know?  Like, can’t be imagined has to be seen, has to be studied to get the biology.

We never thought we’d inhabit another planet, too alien, and too immoral to wipe it and have a do over.  We can terraform, most people know that, but it was barred by the UN.  Even for very young development, they said it was a form of genocide, and we couldn’t export that to the stars.

The compromise was that we would shape life to our way of being.  We wouldn’t take it away from even the smallest creature, but some genius, what was his name, Urquhart, “the Albert Einstein of biology” designed the substance to infect and change almost any life to our way of being.  Tested it on creatures of the deep that used to live on weird substances, sulphide and anaerobic critters.

Gas escaped at home once too.  It was bad.  They nuked that place.  Can’t make the substance at home anymore.  We don’t make it until the last moment.

Our kit is so mechanical; big wheels turn little wheels inside the plant to open valves.  The alarms go off is the inner plant is compromised, because the substance can reshape itself to squeeze through any kind of gap.  The outer plant isn’t protection, it’s a delaying tactic.

I could see a bead of sweat running down Berenson’s face.  I clicked on the external mic.

“You delayed.”

“No, we’re fine.”  I just caught Cathy as she shook her head, once.

“You were at it.  Damn it, Berenson, you were supposed to be purging tanks prior to lift.”

“It was just a quickie, no big.”

“Thanks.”  Said Cathy.  I toggled a few switches and looked at the readout, pointing.

“You didn’t purge the tanks, Berenson, and now we’re stuck here for another two hours.”  Two hours while the tanks were re-pressurized and the native atmosphere removed.  Power is a problem this far from home, so we saved a lot of it by letting the tanks just be at atmospheric while we mined more fuel.  Can’t lift without pressure.

Two hours.  I started the process.  I turned to him, awkwardly moving in the cabin against the higher gravity and the bulk of the suit.

“Let me look at you.”

“I’m fine.”  I pulled his arm, jerking him around to I could see into his helmet.  “I’m fine!”  He wasn’t.  one eye was milky white, and I could see his face squashed down on one side, as if he’d had a stroke, which at that point he probably had.

“Get out.”  I pointed at the airlock.

“What?  No, I’m fine.”  I gave him a shove, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the bulkhead.  My heart was pounding with the effort, I could feel it trying to beat its way out of my chest.

“You’re not fine, Berenson, you’re infected.”  James piped up.  “Captain’s right.”  And he began spinning the airlock handle open.  I was surprised at how real it all felt.  I was excited, not in a good way, and fearful; I could taste the adrenaline.  Berenson punched at my helmet ineffectually, despite his size he was weakening rapidly at the substance took over his body.  I hoped that while it was inward looking we could get him out and seal up again.

James and Lees went ahead and opened the second locks, and the third set.  Berenson tried to fight, and he was a heavy weight, I nearly did something about that, but I didn’t want to tip my hand if I could help it.

We got him out as he started to convulse, and I switched to his inner helmet cam, the one we all have so we can check on each other.  Watching this isn’t something I’d recommend for daily viewing.

His eye became the source of the substance, gassing out of the socket, and it wasn’t merciful, we could hear him screaming over the circuit, and we’d have cut it off but we had to get the data.

The substance has a language, a matrix of syllables that makes itself present in what even vocalization is available.  Even Urquhart never understood why, but he hypothesised that it was another way of passing on important information about the new configuration.  We were tasked, in this event, to gather that and transmit it back to the main ship for transmission to Earth.

The screaming became extreme, and more of his face started collapsing to the gas, making it mercifully harder to see, but frustrating because we couldn’t record the order of collapse.  I heard Cathy throw up in her suit.

“Stop watching, for crying out loud.”  There was only the sound of retching in reply.

Lees and James came back to the inner ship.

“All sealed, Captain.”  Said James.

“Good, I’ve started the purge.  Damn him, we’ll be lucky to get off at all.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t leave.” Said Lees.  “Maybe we’re at too much risk now.”

“That’s crazy talk, Lees.”  Beeston, normally reticent, sounded high pitched, scared.

“Cool it.” I said.  “We’re leaving, we just have to get these tanks pressurized and life.  They’ll decontaminate before we enter the ship and that will be that.  Berenson will be part of the new planet and we’ll winkle out his consciousness later.  End of discussion.”

There were a few moments of silence following, just the thudding of the tanks as each beat of the big pistons came up through our feet.

“This stinks.”  Said Cathy.

“Breathe deeply.”  I said.  “The suit’s cleaning it up, you know that.”  She’d never been comfortable living in a suit.  Competent, just didn’t like the space.

“I don’t want to breathe at all right now.”  She sighed.  “I liked him.”

“He was an asshole.”  Said Lees.  She was about the same height as Cathy but always seemed to be about a foot taller.  “Left us stranded.”

“He’s dead, goddamnit!  Show some respect.”

“He ain’t dead, Cathy.  Your love ain’t gonnna die, not now, not ever.”  The screaming cut off abruptly.

“Fuck you, Lees.”

“Shoulda offered before little girl, ‘cause then the big man might have purged the tanks.”  Cathy turned and slammed Lees into one of the consoles, causing it to spark.

“Cut it out!”  I shouted.  “You want to keep us here?  Get off that equipment.”  I could feel my heart pounding again.  We’re scientists, largely, we’re supposed to be disciplined.  “You want to get off this rock, you better start doing your jobs damnit.  Lees, you get on the radio.  Cathy get on those engines and see they’re balanced up.  Beeston, get in the goddamn pilot seat and strap in.”  Everybody moved, responding automatically to the commands.

“I’m going to engineering, Captain.”  Said James.  I nodded, but he was still looking at me.  Futile.  I toggled the radio.

“Yes.”  He moved off.  I sat in the captain’s chair, looking over the readouts.  None of it looked great.

That’s when it happened.  I was looking out of the forward port windows. And the gasses gathering outside suddenly coalesced.

It was Berenson, impossibly large, as if the clouds had reproduced him.

“Beeston,” I said, knowing it was useless, “how long to lift?”

“Over an hour Captain.” He must have looked up.  “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” I said, “get us moving.”  I saw him switching things more rapidly and typing, but I couldn’t tell what he was doing.  A sound came from outside the shuttle.  It was Berenson, but huge, loud and slow.

“So, Captain.  Jealous of a little pleasure?”  His gassy hand took a swipe at the ship and dissipated, reforming on the other side of his stroke.  He looked puzzled.  “Not had any all the time we’re been here, have you?”  And he swiped again.  “Admiral’s precious little rabbit, too good for the likes of us?”  The puzzled look on his face because one of clarity.

I didn’t like it.

The impact was appalling, somehow his giant hand had become something of great solidity and swiped us, crushing the outer left part of the shuttle and slamming us a hundred metres west.  Beeston brought his hand down over several buttons and the shuttle stabilized in mid air.  I looked over the bridge, Cathy was dead, she hadn’t strapped in to her seat and her helmet had ripped off her head; her face rolled lazily into view like a rebuke.

“Beeston,” I said in my calmest voice, “get us out of here right now.”

“No can do, Captain.”  I slammed my hand down on the comms button for Engineering. “James.”

“Here, Captain.  Legs are broke.”  His voice sounded fevered.

“Shit.  Take care of yourself.”  The voice sounded outside the ship again.

“Ah! There you are, I can take care of James for you.  Too bad about Cathy.”  And the giant smoky hands reached down again.  Beeston cut whatever thrust he’d had and the ship dropped, slamming into the ground hard, but the hands passed overhead.

“Lees!  Get down to engineering.  Get those engines online!”  She gave me a look, I couldn’t tell what sort of look it was, but it was the last time she looked at me.  A hand reached inside the ship and plucked her, ghosting her instantly, from right out of her suit.

“Come and play, Lees.  I’ve always had a thing for you.”  I saw her ghostly form struggling in his hand, and heard her shout,

“You’re the wrong sort for me, you sick bastard!”  and then her body went limp and lifeless as the substance Berenson balled up her up in his hand.

“Oh, well then,” he said, and then appeared to swallow her whole.

“Beeston, do something!”  But he just sat there, and I realised that the last impact had broken his neck.  “James!  James!”  Nothing, probably dead too, or soon to be, I assumed.

There was a moment of coolness.  I counted up, they were all gone, and this vessel wasn’t going to lift ever again.

I ghosted out of my body and let it fall, moving outside the shuttle, layers and layers of the vessel passing behind my eyes.

The creature looked at me.

“So, you were our insurance then?”

“Yes.”

“And you think you’re going to take this planet now you’re one of us.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll come over before it’s reformed.  They’ll never come here.”

“We’ll see about that.”

And the battle joined.