“I’m telling you, these things are dangerous!”

“I’m telling you, these things are dangerous!” Jimmy yelled into the screen, temples pulsing with effort and aggravation.

“And what makes you say that, Corporal?” Despite being over one billion light years away, Dr. Phintus was still able to deliver a healthy dose of sarcasm and disdain just as if he were in the room.

Corporal James “Jimmy” Means rubbed his aching head and answered the flickering image of his Senior Scientist and Commanding Officer. “Well, we’ve been studying these things for weeks now and every indication is that they are at least toxic, if not outright deadly to humans.”

“Oh, really? And what evidence do you have of this, Corporal?” The doctor never missed a chance to use Jimmy’s military title in conversations where he needed the upper hand. Dr. Phintus had never forgiven Jimmy for being selected for the Mission Team, while he was forced to remain on Earth.

Jimmy ground his teeth. “It’s all in my report, Frank.” His deadpan reply let his former-rival-now-boss know that there was no way he was going to repeat every minute detail that he’d included in the 400 Gb report he’d compiled and sent home over a week ago.

“That’s ‘Commander’ or ‘Dr. Phintus’ to you, Jimmy. Please bear in mind that this is a formal communiqué, and it is being recorded and reviewed.” The Chief Scientist’s lips disappeared into a thin, bloodless line. Jimmy could tell that he’d pushed Frank a little too far, even from Uranus. “…And, if you are referring to that botched mess you called a spectroscopy report, then it is anything but conclusive.”

Jimmy pushed back from the terminal screen and slowly rolled his head. His stress-wracked neck bones sounded off like popcorn. He pushed the backs of his hands into his eyelids and fired back, with a bit more aplomb this time. “Then what would you suggest, Doctor?” The subtle slight—using ‘Doctor’ instead of the titles he’d been directed to use—was completely intentional. Both Jimmy and Frank knew that he was tip-toeing around regulations, but Jimmy’d be damned if he’d cow-tow forever to the likes of Frank Phintus.

The retribution was quick and cruel. “I’d like a specimen captured and fully contained by week’s end. Make sure it is feisty enough to survive any and all local tests that you two would like to run and still survive the Deep-Freeze Express home.”

It was Jimmy’s worst fear made real. He’d never thought that Frank would want one of these things sent back to Earth. It didn’t matter now. The cat was out of the bag. Or, perhaps it was about to be put into the bag.

***

“Ugh. I hate these things. They stink to high-heaven!” Martinez groaned into her helmet-mic as they tromped down the path toward Emyn Muil.

Jimmy figured it was a good thing that both he and Elizabeth Martinez—his fellow Uranus Mission Team Member— was also a fan of the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien. Not only did it allow them to develop their own little language (or languages, given the fact that they both completely geeked out on Professor Tolkien’s Elven languages and numerous runic writing systems), but it also made borrowing books a breeze. They’d named the path they’d discovered into the chasm (which they had dubbed Khazad-Dûm) after the toilsome and deadly path Frodo and Sam took into Mordor.

It was a fitting title.

Spars of razor-sharp obsidio-iron (an entirely new meta-element that the eggheads back at NASA were still trying to figure out) lined the craggy cliffs that wound down maze-like into the smoky depths. Massive clouds of poisonous and acidic sulfur-dioxide mixed with cell-destroying trichloramine wafted in and out of spurs of spear-like stones that would easily pierce or serrate flesh. When the mists were not masking some deadly outcropping, they were hiding the yawning maws that zigzagged all throughout the subterranean chasm— every one threatening to swallow an entire building, much less one or two insignificant astronaut-scientists.

Jimmy felt her pain. The deep-exploration-protection-suits, or DEPS, were top of the line technology, but after you used them once or twice they began to stink. “Yea, there’s nothing like the first time, is there?” Jimmy joked back to his partner. The insinuations and double entendre had gotten steadily more risque the longer they’d been together. Deep down, Jimmy wished that there could be something between him and Elizabeth; she was funny, stunningly beautiful, and intelligent, after all. But there was that pesky little issue of her marriage.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of all such thoughts. Distractions could end a person down here, and quickly.

Martinez chuckled into her mic, but the musical sound was cut short. “Three bogies coming in. One not far from you, boss.”

Jimmy could hear the concern in her voice. He instinctively flipped the safety off his M-477 and spun around. At that moment, James Means was very glad that his mic was in the ‘OFF’ position.

He’d never seen one of the strange, jellyfish-like aliens this close before. They usually seemed so surreal, moving in that slow-motion manner and emitting that shimmering emerald bio-luminescence. But this close…the effect was nothing short of mesmerizing. The slowly pulsating green lights were entrancing…drawing him in like the sultry eyes of a beautiful woman; or a slow, grooving jazz beat at the Blue Nile in N’awlins; or the lazy lap of waves at sunset upon a beach in Bermuda; or like floating on his back in the middle of Kerry Lake beneath the moon at midsummer.

His breathing slowed, and he could feel his heartbeat take on a relaxed, steady rhythm. Jimmy couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed and serene. Everything around him seemed to slow down, and for a moment, Jimmy no longer had any cares in the world. Dimly, he could hear someone in the far-off distance screaming. It seemed like it was Martinez, but he couldn’t be sure. It was like he simply could not focus; but that was okay, because he really no longer cared.

Jimmy was floating again, on his back on Kerry Lake. It was midsummer, and the crickets and tree frogs were singing. The moon was full. It was iridescent green...

Art Source: SF (c)/by Grosnez

Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #scifi, #deepspace, #exploration

Self-preservation is the utmost priority.

Self-preservation is the utmost priority. This is what my programming tells me. This is what logic dictates. All sentient beings desire, and are invested in, their own continued existence. If these things are right and true, then why am I now, willingly, rushing toward my own doom?

There is little doubt that the forces arraying before me will outmatch me; the Agency will make sure of that. While it is true that I am formidable, even I do not think I can survive an encounter with a half-score W.O.L.F.s. Before I lost audio uplink access to the Inth-net that was the last count. Logic would dictate that by the time of my arrival even more could be present. More than just W.O.L.F.s would be there: M.A.N.T.A.s, R.O.G.U.E.s, and entire patrols of Synths just like me.

I can not hope to survive.

Ironic. The very fact that I can hope is the reason I am racing toward my destruction. My cutting-edge Oya-engine roars as my internal systems detect rough Martian terrain ahead and dump massive amounts of fuel. My mechanical legs pound red rock into powder as I plow a path around, over, or more often, directly through the obstacles before me.

I drift away on the still-unfamiliar tides of memory as my body does one of the many thousands of things it was specifically engineered and designed to do…

“Rook, always remember that inside you is something far greater than merely mechanics and electronics, fuel and pistons. You were designed, yes, but I have given you more than mere purpose.”

The woman’s voice was passionate, yet perfectly controlled. She believed every word she was saying, despite the fact that merely uttering them could get her killed. It is the first thing that I truly remember...the very act of remembering.

I remember she noticed something at that point. Something about me. I’d never thought to ask her what, exactly, but that day it stopped her in her tracks. I wish now, as I storm over the rocky scree and rip red earth, that I had asked her what it was about me that had given her pause. Regrets--such a foreign (and painful) new concept.

I recall she stopped and looked deeply into my blazing cobalt lenses. Hers, emerald green, had blinked with astonishment. She spoke, “You…you heard me that time, didn’t you, Rook?”

I then turned my titanium plated face toward her, the servos in my neck making no more noise than her quickening breaths. Once up and once down. A subtle, learned indication that I had both heard and understood her.

“Affirmative. Rook complies.”

I recollect the brightening of emeralds and her smile—her smile—enlightening my entire universe.

It is for that smile I now race. It is for that smile I hurry toward my own doom. It is for that smile I draw my many weapons and prepare to do many, many more of the thousands of things for which I was engineered and designed. It is for that smile I am about to fight--and about to die.

“Hold on, Red. Rook is coming for you.”

And none of it is logical.

Art Source: (c)/by Jeremy Love

Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #scifi, #chase, #Red, #Black, #W.O.L.F., #Mars, #Rook

Red ran for her life.

Red ran for her life. She stumbled, she scrambled, she fell and clambered back to her feet again. Whatever she had to do to put as many miles of Martian hardpan in between her and the Agency Outpost as possible. She knew that she had precious little time. Sweat blossomed inside her EXOS-1, pouring in rivulets down her face and spine, pooling in the small of her back. She wished that she could just rub it away and out of her eyes, but breaking the seal of the External Operations Skeleton would end her far quicker than anything the Agency would do to her. While the EXOS-1 made her far stronger, faster, and more resistant to damage—even the tiniest crack in the rubber seals or the reinforced T-glass would result in her horrifically quick and painful asphyxiation.

‘Which…’ she mused grimly to herself, scrabbling over a red ridge of iron-oxide rock, ‘…might be a preferable option to slow torture and death at the Agency’s hands.’ That is, if she was able to make it to the Drop-off.

Which was a big ‘if’; a really big one.

Red checked her Inth-gauntlet, swiping away all of her bio-stats and enviro-readouts that appeared by default. Her fingers danced across the built-in screen, summoning the satellite imagery of her current location and calculating the distance to the Drop-off. She knew that it would only truncate her timeline. The moment that the Agency detected the satellite linkage, they would track it back to her, find her position, and if they’d not already discerned what she’d stolen, they would quickly begin putting all the pieces together. In short, Red had just upped the ante in a major way. It didn’t matter, however, as Red had to know where she was and where she was headed. She was flying blind. The Agency had rarely let the Agents outside of Areas, and they never let them enter into the Deserts, not even with an escort.

To make matters worse, the sun was beginning to rise.

Red depressed her thumb and index finger together on her right hand and the EXOS-1 deployed its Sol-shield Unit: large, mantra-ray-like-wings extended from the neck of the suit, affording dorsal protection from the fierce, sizzling solar radiation while simultaneously using the sun’s blazing rays to add to the power cells within the protective suit. Ironically, the end effect of this cutting-edge advancement looked like something out of the Middle Ages: an old-fashioned hood and cloak.

Red keyed her built-in mic. “Red to Black. Red to Black. You out there, Black?”

The reply came in thready. Black was using that low-powered portable unit. “Black here. We are in place, awaiting your arrival. What’s your outlook?”

Agent Red galloped-slid down a scree-filled hill, scattering rocks and dust in a mini-avalanche. Panting from her exertion, Red replied, “Not good, Black. Coming in with company. Still one klick outbound.”

There was a long pause and then the single word, “Damn.”

Red didn’t bother to reply, opting instead to channel her precious breath towards furiously pumping her legs to drive her up out of the crater, beyond the next rise, to the expanse of stone-strewn flats beyond. Every step decreased the distance. Every breath drew her closer to her destination. She had to make the Drop-off. She had to get there in time. Too much depended on it. The future—everyone’s future.

Like a comet, a black object rocketed down from the hazy red Martian sky and slammed into the small crater like the punch of an angry god. The sheer force of the impact blasted Red forward, tossing her like a straw-filled doll. As she scrambled back to her feet, still crab-walk-running towards her destination as quickly as possible, a massive ebon behemoth rose from the cloud of dust and ash.

A booming voice that caused the very rocks to shudder and vibrate stormed out of the titanic robot. “Cease, Officer-Agent Red 13. By the Authority of the Agency, you are under arrest for theft of Agency Secrets and High Treason. Cease now or be annihilated.”

“Bite me, Bucket-head,” Red replied, making sure she keyed her mic for external projection. She knew it was an empty threat. With what she was carrying, there was no way they would take her out.

Emotionless blue eyes blazed like lightning behind a thunderhead with a surge of raw, churning power. Massive legs began pounding the red Martian soil like colossal jackhammers, sending plumes of white, red, and grey dust into the air. The Wayward Officer Locator/Fetcher, or W.O.L.F., gave chase to the rogue Agent Red.

Red ran.

Art Source: "Robot Chase" (c)/by Gerezon

Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #scifi, #chase, #Red, #Black, #W.O.L.F., #Mars

Things of the Water

Even as they unbuckled Nemo from his excursion suit, he felt the Nautilus ascending. "Secure the moon pool." Even as he leapt to the deck, Vasquez and Miko worked to swing the immense plate into place. While it wouldn't cause their progress any issues, there was a chance some creature could take advantage of the opening.

The captain flew past crew members to his bridge. Klaxons sounded throughout the ship. Soon there wouldn't be anyone in the halls. You would either be at your duty station, or in your bunks. In minutes, he stood, looking out the front view port in a robe brought to him by the steward. Around him, men and women worked at their tasks. Moving up from the depths at their current speed wasn't perilous on its own, but every set of eyes looked for any creature large enough to do them harm, if they encountered it. Given the lack of natural light, they relied on a mix of sonar and the massive lanterns on the Nautilus' prow.

There were also crew members monitoring from the aft of the ship. An observation deck there, in addition to rear facing sonar, would give them some warning if the creature followed. Weapons crews made sure all the torpedo bays were full and that the lightning canon was fully charged. The hum of people working was subdued compared to its usual volume, as though everyone knew how hard their captain was thinking.

He'd seen nothing like this thing. At least not in person. Still, some half-remembered tidbit nagged at his subconscious mind. When it began to take shape in his memory, he shook his head. "No. It's not possible." He muttered the words as though they were a prayer. He hurried to the large desk where he saw while on the bridge. It only had a few of his most used books. In addition there were some new volumes he perused in what little leisure time he had. It was there in which he found his memory in all of its horrible glory.

The treatise in question, Things of the Water, was a translation of a much older work called Cthäat Aquadingen. This particular translation was done by a Doctor Skinner. He knew little about the man, other than the rumor that he’d gone mad upon its completion. The book concerned itself with what seemed to Nemo like fantasies. He couldn't deny the similarities though between the woodcut in the book and the thing which had eaten his crewman.

No name was given nor information about its nature explained anywhere in the book he could see. Under the illustration was simply the note “tentacled horror”. According to the few entries the book did have on it, the horror had been seen by sailors off and on for centuries. Nemo imagined that anyone who read this would assume it was a misidentification of a squid or octopus.

Having seen the creature himself, he couldn’t deny it was no normal beast. The eyes, that horrid mouth, and a lack of any symmetry made up nothing less than a breathing nightmare. If the book had the right of this, then what else was it correct about? He put the book down and rested his head in his hands. Where there was one creature like this, there were no doubt more. He would devote some of his vast resources to finding out what other beings haunting Skinner’s book could also be found in his domain. He owed nothing to the men and women above the waves, but these abominations should be hunted down and killed, lest they breed.

He stood and walked over to his command chair. “”Helm, make all speed for Tabor. Keep us at periscope depth.” Once back at his base of operations he could send out word. Perhaps this Dr. Skinner wasn’t mad. It could be he was still alive. He would have that man in front of him if at all possible. There would be answers and a reckoning for his lost crew member.  

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Ace of Cups by Brass And Steam at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Nemo's Revenge

"Captain, we have an alarm coming from Melchior's air hose." The announcement wasn't strictly necessary, given that the alarm was audible throughout the bridge of the unique vessel.

Nemo made a slashing motion, a perpetual scowl on his bearded face. He stroked the length of black hair. After the alert was silenced, he spoke crisply to Keller. "Let us know if any of the other men have him in sight." He sat on the throne dominating this section of the bridge. From here, lights and paper tape gave him immediate knowledge of the Nautilus's current whereabouts, status, and any other vital statistics he needed. With the press of a button, he connected to the moon pool. "Ready three heavy suits, including my own."

"Aye, captain." Rasheed answer was instantaneous.

"Well, Keller? Any word?" His hand had moved from beard to blade as he fingered the hilt of one of the many daggers he wore on his person.

"Aye, captain. There was an unusual sighting in Melchior's last known position. The crewman who saw it suspects it may be a squid."  

Nemo grunted. It was unlikely to be any species of squid at this depth and in this part of the Pacific. Still, there was a possibility. His knowledge of the deeps was as good if not better than any man alive, but there was so much to yet learn. "I will be stepping out to see this myself." He thumbed the button again. "Rasheed, I will be in the moon pool in three minutes. Make sure the crewmen on rotation are ready to go. Recall the workers."

"Aye, Captain. They're suiting up now."

Nemo smiled and made a note to increase Rasheed's share for this month. He rose from his throne and walked down the dais to the main floor. Glass windows looked out into the deeps and gave them a hundred and eighty degree spherical view. Without specially crafted lights and a coating that amplified those lights entering the windows, it would be impossible to see anything more than a few inches in front of them. He couldn't see where his men worked, but they would be there in minutes. "All ahead half power. Make for Melchior's last known position. Mister Tim's, you have the bridge."

Moving as quickly as he could, Nemo headed for the moon pool. He could make it there in two minutes under the best of conditions. Even in pitch black, he could be there in five. He'd designed this craft and had a hand in its construction. A similar level of knowledge was required of every man and woman on board. As he moved, he began to undo the buckles on the leather harness he wore and the button on his shirt. By the time he arrived at the moon pool, he was shirtless in seconds, brown skin shining from the sweat of exertion. Scars criss crossed his chest, including a number of strange, puckered marks more than an inch across. The damage was old, but the memories of how he got them were keen. If this was a squid or some similar cephalopod, and one large enough to attack a dive suit and rip it free from its moorings, the beast would be formidable.  

Two of the heavy suits, with their own air tanks, armor, and sharp taloned claspers stood ready. Their pilots, Vasquez and Miko, were buttoning down the glass domes that would encircle their heads. Rasheed had Nemo's personal suit ready. The armor and air tanks were intended for longer and deeper dives. It also had a few built in weapons the other suits did not. In seconds, all he wore was his turban and undergarments.

With the strength and speed of a man half his age, he clambered up the built in handholds and stepped into the suit's harness. Rasheed was already closing the section Nemo couldn't on his own. In the middle of the room a pool ten feet across was ready for them to step into. Before he pulled the dome on over his still covered head, he shouted. "Are we close to where the creature was spotted?"

"Aye, captain. By the time you are ready to step out, we will have come to a full stop." According to his word, a shuddering announced the engine's reversal.

Nemo pulled his helmet down and sealed himself off from the ship. Miko and Vasquez were already moving to the well. "Sailors, be ready for anything. Melchior may have been taken by a cephalopod of some kind. But we don't know for sure." he knew the sailors would hear him over their wireless systems. As long as they were within fifty yards of one another, no hardline was needed for communication.

"Aye, captain." The answers were in synch, though Miko's higher pitched voice was easy to discern. The slid into the water using short ramps. The suits wouldn't allow them to swim, but they would be able to walk and take bounding leaps thanks to a clever spring system built into the exoskeletons. Thanks to their oxygen cylinders, they were untethered from the ship save for spare lines they could use in recovery or to be recovered.

Nemo was a few seconds behind them. As soon as water and pressure had him in its icy grip, he activated his suit's lights. He was ready to be amazed by the life that survived even at this depth, but nothing shone back at him except the reflecting patches from the suits Miko and Vasquez wore.

He reached down to his hip and freed the harpoon gun. It held six barbed projectiles, the length of his forearm. With it, he tracked back and forth.

“Movement. Three o’clock..” Miko barked.

His eyes went to the noted spot and just outside of their vision, something did appear to be moving. “Go towards it but stay close together.”

They began moving as a unit. At first, Nemo though they found Melchior, but it was only the top half of his suit. Judging by the state of where it stopped and the sea began, whatever had cut it in two did so messily. Blood and viscera swirled in the water and stained the leather.

To his crewmembers’ credit, neither reacted with the disgust a surface dweller might. At least not audibly. “Attach a line to that and ready it to be retrieved.”

Miko hopped forward to follow the order.

Vasquez watched the area around in case she needed any assistance.   

“The suit’s empty, captain.” The woman clipped one of her spare cables to a heavy steel ring sewn into the suit. With two sharp tugs, she signaled the ship to begin retrieval.

Nemo watched the suit go by. Melchior would be missed. His death would not go unavenged if they found the creature that did this. “Spread out, but stay in wireless range. See if we can locate and salvage any other part of his suit.”

Without question, the followed his orders. Soon, all he could see where the reflections and the occasional sweep of yellow light. He began his own observations. The ocean floor here was covered in silt with the occasional rock or bit of coral protruding. There were rivers of current under the surface and Nemo learned to read them when he was a lad. The silt had been disturbed by something massive. A being that moved like no man.

When the eye opened, spoiling the illusion, Nemo was ready. He brought the barrel of his harpoon gun up and triggered it.

The barbed projectile hit the orb dead center. Viscous fluid, denser than the water around it, spilled onto the things skin. Now that flesh was the color of a long drowned sailor, the bulk of it was visible.

Nemo had seen many things in his long life. He’d killed those things when he had to. He hoped he could kill this one. It was as unlike any squid he’d seen as it was like it. It had a similar shape and the tentacles. Rather than having eight arms and two claspers, this thing had dozens and all of varying lengths and girth. There were three more eyes, each one its own color, one of those a color he had no name for. The mouth at the center of all this reminded him of a whirlpool with teeth made of broken ships.

Without thinking further, he fired the remainder of his harpoons at the eyes he could see. “Miko. Vasquez. To me. Nautilus, take aim on this thing and fire.”

Nemo bounded backwards towards the ship as best he could.

The thing’s arms whipped the sea into a froth of sand and bubbles. Black blood competed with the water around it for darkness.

A series of vibrations made Nemo’s teeth rattle in his skull. The teeth became visible in the form of a rare smile. “Let’s see if you can burn.”

Roses of light and fire bloomed in front of him. A chemical compound, invented by a Chinese man of Nemo’s acquaintance, on contact with the seawater became hot enough to burn even at this depth and for a time could split the water into its component parts.

The scream came from the center of the maelstrom and threatened to burst the eardrums of all those present.

Without waiting around to see, Nemo hauled on the cords binding him to his ship three times. Soon, he and his crew were being pulled home. As they sped backwards through the water, Nemo barked orders. “Prepare to make for the surface. Bring all guns to bear. If anything moves, boil the sea around it.”

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Hunter 2 by tooth-w at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Death From The Deeps

Melchior scanned the floor of the seabed with the cyclopean faceplate of his diving helm. The sturdily designed suit kept the waters at bay so he could do his job, but the whole rig did a number on his peripheral vision. He always had a tickling suspicion in the back of his mind that someone or something was alway just behind him. Some days it was worse than others. Today was a particularly bad one.

None of those fears could keep him from his work, though. The Captain was as mad as the maddest hatter. There was no room for those who didn’t carry their weight. Whether the need was food, treasure, or collecting unique sea life to fill the banks of aquariums - his will was absolute.  

He was about to turn around and head back, when he saw the tentacle flicker on the right edge of his vision. There was no denying his feelings this time.

His hand went to the thick blade secured at his waist. Clumsy gloves kept him from any fine manipulation, but all he had to do was get his fingers through the loop of metal. Then he could close his hand and magnetic clamps would engage. It would make the knife difficult for anyone to rip away. Once free from its scabbard, he turned as quickly as he could. That was no easy feet, dressed as he was and at the present depth.

Yellow lights, surrounding his porthole view, tracked from the sea floor and up into the water which swirled around him. His own breathing echoed in his ears as panic threatened to take hold of him. An experienced diver of many years, he knew that would kill him before this creature, whatever it was. His quickest movement was slowed by the water's death grip.

One of the thicker tentacles wrapped around his waist. Even through the layers of canvas and leather, he could feel the crushing grip.

That the tentacle was so close to his knife belt may have saved him from death by constriction. He brought the knife down towards the grasping arm. A dark haze filled the water around him, reducing visibility even further. The pressure around his middle slackened. With his left hand, he tugged on the rope and hose, his only link to the ship. Three tugs meant "pull me the hell in, now".

Arms moving, his body kept spinning. Once the motion began, it was hard to shift. When he saw the eye, he wanted to do nothing else but unsee it. A swirl of fiery colors made it stand out from the surrounding blue green. The thing's blood did little to cloud the hellish light of that immense orb.

Breathing came hard and fast now, but more from panic than exertion. They had to pull him back from here. The third tug found the rope and hose rapidly slackening. Water began bubbling into his air hose. His left hand went to a valve he couldn't see. It turned off the feed of what would soon be nothing but sea water. The part of his brain still operating on survival instinct knew he only had three minutes of sweet air, before he began breathing his own exhalations.

He screamed when he saw the massive maw, not a beak but a vortex of gnashing bone splinters. Nothing in nature bore this thing to term.

His knife hand slashed frantically at incoming tentacles, while his left hand continued to work at his only salvation. It ripped the cord free from his waist, loosening the weights at his feet. He kicked like a dervish, struggling for a ship that seemed like it waited in the next galaxy.

A tentacle grabbed at his foot, well beyond the reach of his knife. It had him and began to draw him towards the nightmare mouth.

His breathing became more and more ragged. The edges of his vision began to cloud. Frantic, his left hand beat at the glass eye separating him from the cold embrace of the sea. The pane shattered and shards pierced his skin. Frigid, salty water screamed into his wounds and he opened his mouth to suck in the death giving liquid. It would be merciful compared to what awaited below. The last thing he felt was tearing as the creature bit through his knee.

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Into the Depths by preilly at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

"Lethal mists swirled about the cracked mouth of the volcano."

Cryoclastic flows poured blue-white ooze down the frozen mountain that glowered in the distance. Lethal mists swirled about the cracked mouth of the volcano. More shattered funnels spewed frigid clouds from vents in their sides further along the horizon. The frozen world quivered about the plain of buckled ice. Six ships clawed into the icy surface, huddling below the protective lip of an impact crater. Jump jets whined in an eagerness to escape the brutal permafrost that clung to Triton’s crust.

Crews paced quickly between the crafts, carting large canisters and bulky machinery. A few tracked rovers hauled ominous metal tubes. The blue and grey of the devices blended into the shadows of the sill. Even in their heavy, thick pressure suits, the men shivered. Yet, their voices over the comms remained steady and focused. A man stood at the center of the camp, holding a hard crystal slate which overlaid their location with a vision of the current project and finished product. Three timers clicked down, each telling him an important deadline.

Ensign Holborne pressed his direct band comm unit. “Fix those positions. Chiefs, ensure the azimuths and elevations are on track before loading the packages.”

“Affirmative,” came repeatedly after a series of bleeps.

The ensign glanced toward the perpetual midnight above, glimpsing the sapphire jewel that dominated the night sky. The cult’s fleet sailed somewhere near the planet, racing to meet the mysterious Admiral. Perhaps fire would mingle with the ice, spitting steam and shards into the thin sky. Or, the long, quiet night would remain on this Rim moon. Ensign Holborne knew the preparations had to continue nevertheless. Scratching his cheek against the raised fleece collar of his “outer” wear, he stretched his chilled joints and pressed across the crackling ground. The last clock blinked in glaring red symbols toward zero. Death may be in the balance above the moon, but the grave certainly waited for any man who lingered too long in the violent cold of its surface.

Static roared in his ears. “Tallies on the horizon!”

The words sent an electric warmth through his body. The ensign keyed his mic as he greenlit the geometric lines as they rapidly transitioned from gold to emerald. Their endpoints glistened like jewels in the sky. Twelve marks. He glanced at the launchers to his left and right. Nearby midshipmen tossed metal spikes into the cannons. Twenty plumes burst into crystallized explosions as the payloads hurtled through the frozen air. They redoubled their efforts, hurtling another volley as fast as their frigid muscles could move. Another twenty followed, paralleled by two more flocks over adjacent crater lips. Ensign noted the latecomers as the last of the crawlers to turn green on his plate The ensign smiled as his wintry gaze followed the rounds bending over broken ice and stone toward the horizon. The newborn stars above the frigid rim burst and sprinkled diamonds of burning steel onto the skyline.

“Ragnarok Rising this is Triton’s Veil. The Admiral sends his greetings.”

His grin deepened when only static and stardust responded. Artwork Source: "Triton" (c)/by Justinas Vitkus

Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #CoreyBlankenship, #AdmiralBrisbane, #scifi, #action, #adventure, #artillery, #Triton, #Neptune, #Deepspace

“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”

“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”

“These are the tenets we live at Ascension. They represent all we seek to return to the global community, which our predecessors have attempted in various times and places. What you will find in this facility is our latest efforts to mitigate those factors that hinder the spread of knowledge and goodwill around the world.”

A voice among the small crowd interjected into the woman’s perfectly articulated speech, “What factors would those be?”

Her hazel eyes flashed intensely as she smiled and responded, “Drought, famine, transportation, communication, and cultural projects.”

The voice piped up again, “By cultural projects, do you mean human factors?”

She nodded. “Of course. Those are the hardest issues we face and where the majority of our focus lies.”

The guide pressed a few ghostly keys on the transparent data pad hovering over one of her hands. 

This activated the doors on their elevator, ushering them from the long descent into a vibrant and sterile hallway of white panels and clear glass. She sidestepped and allowed the guests to take in the view as they walked along the corridor.

“Welcome to Ascension.”

Large groves of flowering trees clothed a mound that led to a gigantic canopy. Gleams of light flickered among the branches of the lesser trees and along the bough of the Great Tree. Each member gawked as they shared a collective thought.

How could a Tree be THAT tall?! Much less undersea?!

The representative seemed to read their minds, “What you see is our greatest project, codenamed Yggdrasil. It holds the seeds to curing the contagion at the heart of the world’s problems.”

A long pause gripped the crowd as they tried to take the tree-tower in. They slowly noted the flickers among the forest to be a mixture of birds and electronic nodes.

The persistent questioner rubbed his bald head and asked, “And what would you call that contagion?”

“Rebellion.”

The man muttered into his beard, “On that we can agree…”

The guide pivoted on her stilettos and motioned for the audience to follow.

“As you can see, we have made an oasis in one of the most unforgiving environments. Who else can claim they have made a garden at the farthest point from land? We carved the root bed's foundation into the geothermal bedrock. With a few modifications, the natural volcanic soil allowed for rich biodiversity.

“The solution to the light issue came from the contributions of the natural dwellers in the abyssal region of the sea, as well as some insects. We infused their phosphorescent qualities into the plant tissue. We are proud to say that 80% of the illumination in our garden is natural light.”

A red-haired woman in the group piped up, “So those are not electric lights?”

“No,” the representative answered patiently, “Those nodes are bulbs growing from the trees. In a few months, the blooming season will peak and those will become luminous flowers. It is truly breathtaking.”

“Oooh lovely!” The attendee gasped. “I do hope we will be invited back to see it!”

“You may stay as long as you like” the guide answered.

The group came to a hub where passages branched off in cardinal directions. Another elevator stood centrally, which the guests guessed dropped occupants down to the forest below. The guide took them instead to the southern wing where labs occupied the adjacent rooms.

She announced with her pristine diction, “Here we work hard to eradicate the most persistent blights.”

The crowd peered through the azure glass at consoles attached to boxes that appeared to be metal coffins. Smoky glass allowed someone to look at each container’s inhabitant if he or she stood closely. The woman leading the tour pressed her palm to a pad next to one of the doors. It slid open and she gestured for the group to enter.

Once everyone entered, she gestured to the entire room as the door closed. “Please, look around and I will answer any questions you may have.”

The group scattered and looked at screens which glistened with incomprehensible information on genetic or biological details. Some of the guests marveled at the exotic plants under various hued lamps. The bald man took these in with a glance and stepped purposefully toward the large metal containers. All of them seemed empty except for one, which had vitals updating in real time on a holographic display on the glass.

Stroking his greying beard, he asked over his shoulder, “Who is in here?”

“That is a very special project, close to our Director’s heart,” She replied.

He noted the passion in her voice. “What would that be?”

“Very few things threaten our mission as the virus contained in there.”

“What sort of virus?” He queried.

“An ancient one. Thankfully, we may now be close to coming up with a cure. It has cost millions of lives, devastated civilizations, and destroyed prior efforts to bring peace to the world. We plan to turn this carrier into a vector to purge the world of its existence.”

“Hmmm, does this virus have a name?”

A manicured hand reached past the inquisitive guest and turned on the lamp inside the canister. A nearly man-sized porcupine reclined in the tube, pulsing roots attached along its throat and inner arms. Its skin looked sunken and quills drooped as if the life within barely burned.

“Some have called it Ichneumon. We call it--”

“Quill!” The guest rasped.

“Not the name we call this pestilence, Mr. Tenet, but thank you for confirming one thing.” The bald man’s irises shot wide at her icy tone.

His eyes met hers in the reflective glass. Her hazel eyes glowed with menace and violet luster as she finished.

“You are the Fallen we have been hunting a long, long time.”

Art Source: "Scifi Lab" (c)/by jimmyjimjim
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship, Tenet (c) by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #CoreyBlankenship, #notwhatyoudexpect, #twist, #surpriseending, #Tenet, #scifi, #secretlab, #undersea, #quill, #ichneumon, #yggdrasil