Kraken Mare (6 page)

“Baptiste. And quite frankly, he just flat-out scares me. He’s just as polite and calm as Holomisa, but, I don’t know. There’s something in his eyes that just seems off. I’ve never met anyone like him before, and we had some pretty bad mothers back home.”

We arrived at the first cell on the block, which belonged to Captain Holomisa. I looked at Poole, uncertain. He gave a reassuring grin.

“Just follow my instructions and observe for now,” he said. “You’ll get a chance later.”

“Got it.”

“You ready?” Poole’s thumb hovered over the button.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The wall went clear. Holomisa looked up from his book, nodded, and marked his place. He stood and approached the door, turning around and clasping his hands behind his back. His movements, while slow, were deliberate, and didn’t seem to be challenging us or mocking in any way. Just someone making sure we knew he was complying, no ulterior motive.

“Nothing up my sleeve…” I muttered. A quick smile flashed across Holomisa’s face. I gave him a funny look before I shook my head. I wondered if he could read lips as well. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Poole triggered the lock, and the door slid into the floor. Holomisa took one careful step backwards and stopped. Poole carefully snapped the cuffs on the captain’s wrists, then bent to attach the leg restraints. Bigfoot stood to the left of the prisoner, hand on his tranq gun in case something went wrong.

“Ok, Captain, you may turn around and exit your cell.”

Holomisa did so, and then surprised me. He spoke.

“Ah, Lockhart, it is good to see you again.”

I did a double take.

“Can’t fool you, can I?” the older guard said, chuckling. “Thought the name tag would throw you off this time.” He shot me a look and grinned. “Captain H here is batting a thousand. Only one on the station that can tell us apart without a cheat of some kind.”

My brain did a quick somersault, reassigning a name to the person I was standing next to.

“Shall we, gentlemen?” Holomisa nodded in the direction of the elevator. I found myself taking a step involuntarily, momentarily forgetting that I was the one with the authority here. I flushed at Poole’s — Lockhart’s, damn it — grin.

“Don’t worry, rook, he has that effect on everyone at first.” To Holomisa, he said, “Introductions, first, Captain. Captain Holomisa, this is John Manning, recently in from Soma, and recently out of the Marines.” Holomisa gave a small bow in my direction. “Manning, this is Captain Emery Holomisa, formerly of the US Army.”

“Captain, your reputation and career precedes you,” I said. “I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”

“Likewise.” A slight smile crossed his lips. “Soma? Surely you have some interesting stories.”

“Just one, Captain. And don’t…”

“…Call you Shirley?” A toothy grin came and went quickly.

“Uh, yeah.” I couldn’t help but to grin back. “A fan of the classics, I see.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about,” Lockhart said, shaking his head. “Let’s head down before you guys start in on the war stories.”

All in all, Holomisa was a model prisoner. He quit talking as we started walking towards the elevator; however, I had the feeling it was so we wouldn’t become distracted and could perform our duties properly. Respect for our position, regardless of the situation. It was comforting, in a way, and somewhat inspiring.

Jesus. I’ve known the guy less than five minutes and I’d follow him into Hell.

I forced the thought back and concentrated on what I was supposed to do.

The doors closed, and I tensed. If anything were to go down, this would be the place to do it. Natural leader and hero or not, Holomisa was still a prisoner, and one that was damn difficult to keep that way.

Thirty seconds later, the doors opened to the research deck. I had never been down this far yet, so I was immensely curious to see just what went on in the most restricted area on the station. I was not to be disappointed.

The larger entry room was barren save for a few more tubes for the kraken to swim in. There were not windows of plasteel here, only the sturdy walls which blocked anyone from looking out or in. Oddly enough, there didn’t appear to be any of the aliens in this part of the station. I’d seen them everywhere so far, so it was a bit strange to not see any here. I chalked it up to circumstance and walked Captain Holomisa into the room.

Dr. Marillac turned as we stepped out, PDA in hand. Her face was devoid of any emotion, which I figured was her “professional scientist” look. She nodded at Lockhart and jotted down an entry on her PDA.

“Prisoner H-6 has entered Research for his prescribed treatment session,” she said into the mic. “The time is five-five-six pm Central Standard Time. Treatment will be handled by Doctor Isaac.” She turned to the scrawny scientist next to her. “Doctor Isaac, if you would, please.”

“Good evening, Captain,” Isaac said, stepping forward. The young doctor carried his PDA in one hand and a strange-looking device in the other. “If you’ll come with me, we’ll get started.”

Holomisa nodded and followed the doctor, Lockhart and I falling in at his side. Bigfoot silently took up the rear once more. The procedure room looked like most of the exam rooms I had been in, with a few computer screens, an IV stand, heart-rate monitor, etc. A small wheeled table held a tray with assorted surgical instruments arranged neatly on a blue napkin. Dead center of the room was dominated by a large chair, over which was suspended a large machine. The various needles, probes, and invasive-looking gizmos gave it a very sinister appearance. All in all, the whole room gave off a “Marquis de Sade, D.D.S.” feel.

Only far less comforting.

“The captain is always on his best behavior while here, rookie,” Lockhart said as we approached the chair. “But some of the others may give you some pushback. We’ll do this by the numbers for your sake.” He stopped next to the armrest, facing Holomisa. “Captain, please turn around and back up slowly, until your calves are against the leg rest.”

Holomisa complied, again moving slowly and deliberately.

“John, please attach the restraints on the leg rest to the captain’s ankles.”

I ran the heavy leather straps around Holomisa’s legs and buckled them tight.

“Captain, please be seated.” Again, the captain did as he was directed, hands still cuffed behind him

“Now release one cuff and attach it to the armrest.” I did as instructed, closing the cuff around the D-ring bit into the chair. “Now take your cuffs and repeat with the other arm.” I did. Lockhart gave a quick grin. “Thank you, Captain.”

Holomisa gave a small nod and closed his eyes as the chair began to elevate and recline. I heard the door open behind me and turned.

The next shift had arrived. I had only met the two guards briefly, a few minutes here and there the week before. The larger, one Joseph Capdepon, was a barrel-chested Texan whose huge beard barely contained his constant grin. Good-natured guy, from what I could tell, but did tend to bitch about the lack of beer. Specifically, St. Arnold’s, from back home in Houston. The stuff must have been nectar to the gods or something with his constant lamenting and moaning about not having the beer.

Johnny Minion was smaller, but he was just as wide as Capdepon. He carried it well, and I knew from the gym that he wasn’t soft. He was quiet, but I had been warned by Gerry about his fondness for practical jokes. He was constantly making the odd comment which bordered that line between inappropriate and hilarious, which made ample opportunity for the prankster to continue his merry little villainous ways.

The evilest trick (or would that be the best prank?) he had done to date was to swap out the records for one of the female guards with Gerry’s. Our boss was undoubtedly surprised to be informed that he had missed his yearly pap smear from the automated insurance call from headquarters and he needed to get it done if he wanted to avoid a lapse in medical coverage, thank you for choosing Bell Life Insurance. Even Gerry, once things had been cleared up, had found it hilarious.

Johnny had still been forced to pull night shifts for a week, though, so it was arguable who had the last laugh. Plus, April had been less than amused when asked about scheduling a proctology appointment by said insurance company.

Efficiency at its best.

“We’ll take it from here, John,” Joseph said. “Bigfoot, you’re on tonight? Good. Hey Manning, aren’t you supposed to be off?”

“Yeah, just learning the ropes.” I glanced at Lockhart pointedly. “We good?”

He nodded, and I followed him out into the main room. Dr. Marillac was waiting for me.

“John, you’re off now, right?”

I suppressed a heavy sigh. I’d completely forgotten about my earlier promise in the excitement of learning something new for the job. “Yeah, I am.” I faked a smile. “Gallery?”

“I’ll tell the others.”

The elevator ride was again, quiet. Lockhart clapped me on the shoulder and threw me a sympathetic look as he exited at Central, but did nothing to help me out of the current situation. That rat bastard.

The Gallery was much busier this time — it seemed like any xenobiologist scientist type that wasn’t eating or sleeping had gotten the word I’d be there. Unfortunately, the kraken hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo. As I walked in, everyone in the room turned, expectant looks on their faces. I gave a half-hearted wave.

“Hey everyone…” I guess I expected some sort of answer, a “Hi John!” or something. Something besides the sound of about ten people tapping on their PDAs at once. It was disconcerting to hear nothing but heavy breathing and incessant tapping. Dirty, even.

“Everyone ready?” Dr. Marillac asked the group. Ten heads nodded simultaneously. It was extremely unnerving, like watching a group of cats watching a mouse. “Excellent. John, please call the Kraken.”

Jeez, Doc, way to put a guy on the spot
. I felt my face flush as I moved closer to the plasteel. I looked out but I couldn’t see any of the kraken about. Of course, there was always the possibility that they were out hiding in the shadows. The doc did say that they liked to play a lot.

“Okay guys,” I muttered. “Anytime you want to come by, that would be great.” I felt all eyes on me, and gave everyone a sheepish grin. “Heeeerrreee alien fishy things.” Not a chuckle. I swore I heard crickets chirping. All that was missing was a stray tumbleweed rolling through the room. The scientists were not a humorous lot. “Uhm… I really don’t try to call them, they just kind of show up when I’m around. Usually.”

“Well,” Dr. Marillac said with a barely concealed glare, “I guess we’ll have to just make ourselves comfortable and wait.”

I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Six

Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us.

–
Jane Roberts

I found night time at the station to be my favorite time while on duty. The scientists usually quit their research projects and disappeared into their own quarters just before dinner, rarely coming out into the common area to mingle with the guards and the maintenance crew. Most of my fellow coworkers tended to spend the majority of their downtime in that area, which left the remaining levels a quiet place for someone who preferred solitude. Someone like me.

Gerry had been right when he warned me on my first day at the station: finding any true alone time was difficult at the best of times, especially if one did not want to spend all of their free time confined in their private quarters. The security manager had been prescient and always seemed to speak with a solid voice of experience. The more I got to know him, the more I respected him. He was a solid boss, which is just about what anyone could ask.

The really nice thing about afterhours on the station was the dim lighting. In order to attract the kraken, the station lights were set to a hue which we really couldn't see. It was just enough, though, to cause some of the other guards' eyes to search around the room, unconsciously moving to avoid the light but simultaneously being attracted to it. More than a few of my fellow guards wore contacts to help block out the shifting light. I was one of the fortunate who weren't bothered by the changing-light spectrum.

To conserve power, most of the lights on the levels where there weren't any living quarters went to half-power at night. Save for vital levels of the station, at least. Central stayed at full power throughout the night, but the lights in the prisoner cells were dimmed to levels low enough to allow them to sleep. They didn't seem as bothered by the light-spectrum variations as my fellow guards were. Or if they were bothered, they never complained, though they did bitch about everything else.

It was weird. Despite escorting the prisoners down to Research on the rare occasion at the beginning or end of my shift, I knew very little about them. Sure, a few were quite chatty and tried to strike up a conversation, but mostly their talks consisted of insults or provocative comments. It's amazing just how creative someone can get with their veiled threats when confined to a small room for most of the day. Some of them were so depraved that I had to wonder just how they made it past the psychological evaluations all military personnel were required to endure before their enlistment began.

The only one I felt that I had any grasp of was Emery Holomisa, which was funny because he hardly spoke at all. Out of all of the prisoners we held, he never insulted us, never talked back and never tried to argue his way out of the mobile restraints we used while escorting them to and from Research. He just wanted to do his duty and be left alone, something that I both understood and was able to appreciate. I had been the same way once while the shrinks were trying to mess around with my head, though he had much better patience than I had ever been.

Part of the reason that I'd done well at sniper school—other than a near-supernatural ability to hit a target from just about any distance—was my preference to work with as few people as possible. In high school, I'd hung out with friends and was never considered anti-social. Not one of the cool kids, sure. But I had enough friends that it never occurred to me that I might want something else. It was something I hadn't known about myself until sniper school, when I'd been paired up with a spotter and send out on the Survival Course for six weeks.

Sniper training has evolved over the past hundred years. Marine Force Recon snipers used to only deal with regular recon training. With the advent of space travel and colonization of alien worlds, we had to deepen our training and techniques, to try and find that balance between specialization and generalization. It became tougher to be a Marine, and even more difficult to make it through Recon training. To do this, lots of training regiments were created to weed out the weak. One of those was simply known as the Survival Course.

Some mad scientist/bored Gunnery Sergeant with too much time on his or her hands had come up with the idea that Marine Force Recon training had to be tougher than everything else in the history of the world. Combined. After deciding that Navy BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition School) had been too easy, a mash up of Recon training, the BUDS and SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape) schools came about and morphed into what most of the brass named the Marine Corps Survival, Reconnaissance, and Tactical Course. Those of us who made it through just called it the Time of Major Suck.

Ninety percent failed to complete the first Time of Major Suck. Instead of making it simpler, as other branches of the Armed Forces had done in the past, the Corps decided that it was too easy and made it…tougher. Gone were the random food drops to keep Marines fed. If you wanted to be Recon, you had to find your own food. Lost? Should have brought a map, or stolen one. Lack of food? Suck it up, Marine. Water? Urine is sterile, you whiner. Drink up and stay alive.

Needless to say, the last week of the Time of Major Suck is a bit of a blur to me. On the other hand, it's the primary reason I survived my unwanted and unasked for field trip on Soma.

It was still early in my shift as I wandered the levels of the station, doing what the rest of the guards called a “leak and peek” check. I had originally thought that they were messing around with me when they told me about it. Harass the new guy and all that, so I ignored it. I got royally chewed out by Gerry on my third night after finishing my rounds well ahead of schedule. After he explained precisely what a “leak and peek” check was, though, I made damn certain to take my time and do exactly as I had been told.

The station was pressurized to keep the air inside breathable. It was what kept us alive. A series of locks and pressurized vaults allowed for the shuttles to arrive in the hangar, and another set let the deep sea research vessels depart into the lake and explore the surroundings. Throughout the remaining parts, the plasteel and carefully sealed joints kept the inhabitants of the station safe.

The “leak and peek” check basically meant that a guard had to wander all over the station and listen to any strange sounds, anything miniscule to something like air escaping or hissing, and even a bubbling, boiling water sound. The guard also looked for any sign of dampness in the outer passageways. Sensors covered the entire station and were wired into Control in case something catastrophic happened, but sometimes the sensors missed things. That was why idiots like me walked the halls looking for trouble.

Strangely enough, my boss mentioned that if I could hear the boiling water sound then I was probably already dead. I would like to think that he was just messing with the new guy, but the odds were pretty good that he wasn't.

The Gallery was dimly lit and quiet, as I'd expected. I briefly scanned the room for any signs of life, but even the kraken had disappeared from the viewing tubes for the evening. While the inquisitive aliens were almost always watching the scientists, the only other guard besides me that they paid any attention to was the boss, Gerry. Which meant that once the scientists left, the kraken disappeared into the mysterious depths of the lake.

I logged my inspection of the large space on my PDA and moved around the edge of the room, looking out through the plasteel and into the lake. I could see tiny, almost microscopic flashes of fluorescent light moving about. The plankton had startled me the first time I had seen it, though the explanation was easy. Much like lightning bugs of Earth and the parietal bugs on Soma, the fluorescent was designed to attract mates. It was eerily beautiful, much like everything else on this moon.

I stopped and watched the show for a few seconds before moving on. As much as I enjoyed it, I had a job to do.

I turned the corner and spotted Post Three, one of the five security checkpoints strategically placed throughout the station. They protected the restricted locations throughout the base, places like Research and Control where the few civilian maintenance workers could not go. I felt it was a bit redundant to have that many posts for only thirty civilian workers but it wasn't up to me.

Justin Balyeat and April Voecks were on duty tonight at Post Three. Justin was a pretty bland guy who was a bit of a nerd like me, except his interests ran more to the math side than mine. He was taller than I was and better built, but I liked to think that I had better hair. He was pretty reserved, too, rarely displaying his emotions for anyone to see. I never really understood how he got into private contracting, since he was one of the rare few who didn't have military experience. His room was actually next to mine so I could have just gone over and asked, but we didn't interact much for some reason. It's not as though I was trying to avoid him or anything. We just never really talked once we were off duty.

April, on the other hand, had a crass sense of humor that I greatly appreciated and was fairly gregarious. She was one of the few non-civilian females on the station and, because of this, was the center of attention for a lot of the single guys, as well as a few of the married ones. She never seemed to show any interest in any of them, though, and particularly enjoyed shooting down their attempts. Watching someone crash and burn while trying to hit on her was a form of entertainment most of us never seemed to tire of. Her husband back on Earth must have been one hell of a guy to keep her loyalty, I figured. She was a former pararescuer, a special operations unit that worked to save pilots when they were shot down in hostile territory. It was a tough group to get into by any standards. She was, by any definition of the word, a total badass.

“Hey Manning,” April greeted me as I approached their post. “How are things on this lovely fall evening?”

“I guess that's the nice thing about being on a station where you don't see any seasonal changes,” I observed as I stopped at the desk. “You can tell me it was winter and I'd believe you.”

“Benefits of the station's isolation,” Justin stated as he held out a PDA. I pressed my thumb on the screen for a few seconds until it chirped. Logged, I leaned against the desk and glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight, standard Zulu time. I wondered for a moment if my mom had made enchiladas for dinner. The idea made my stomach gurgle hungrily.

“Benefit?” I asked and gave him a curious look. I told my stomach to shut up.

“You're still aging the same as if you were on Earth, since we still use Earth time and calendar here,” Justin explained. “No matter where in orbit we are in relation to Saturn, we're still on HQ's seasonal calendar, which means Chicago. Not like if we were on, oh, Soma or something, where we had to try to match the calendar to the planet's orbit. It'd be kind of stupid to try and match the calendar of the station to the moon's orbit when we never even see a seasonal change.”

“Point,” I conceded. Having three months of August on Soma had sucked hardcore. Especially when the average temperature was three degrees higher than Earth's, and the humidity levels were five times greater on average. It was like the Deep South, but worse. Much, much worse. “Never really thought of it like that.”

“Quiet night, like always,” April said as she rubbed her face with her hands. “I hate the night shift. Too damn slow for me. Why'd you volunteer for it?”

“I like the quiet,” I admitted. “Not to sound rude, but I don't have to deal with a lot of people this way. The prisoners are asleep, and the scientists aren't begging me to interact with the krakens for more research while I'm on duty.”

“It's nice,” Justin agreed with me. “But the occasional change of routine? I wouldn't complain.”

“Bitch whine moan,” I chuckled. “Paid as much as we are to do nothing? I almost feel guilty.”

“I don't,” April grinned. “I jumped into hot LZ's eighty-six times during my hitch while making a little over minimum wage. You can offer me more money than I make right now to do this and not a shred of guilt would ever touch my soul.”

“Amen, sister,” I said, impressed. I knew she had made a few combat jumps, but not that many. “All right, I'm off to Post Two. Leak and peek watch is as exciting as competitive lawn growing. Catch you guys later.”

“See you at 0500,” April said and waved. Justin merely grunted in my direction as I walked off.

The distance between the posts was enough that we needed our comms to stay in contact. The station was
huge
by civilian standards and featured lots of varying hallways and rooms throughout that made traversing it slow. I'd gotten lost a few times my first week at the station and endured some ridicule from the others, but eventually I was able to figure it out.

Five minutes later, I was nearing Research when I felt the air around me suddenly grow colder. I paused and looked around. I couldn't hear anything unusual so I began to mentally go through my checklist. The air recyclers of the station kept the temperature at a balmy 72 degrees at all times, and there was almost never any sort of fluctuations. A change in air temperature usually meant that one of the recyclers was on the fritz. A simple fix but a common problem on a station this size. I scowled and brought up my PDA. I typed in a few commands before I began to speak.

“Post Three, this is Manning.”

“Go, Manning,” April's voice came back almost instantly.

“One of the recyclers needs to be repaired in hallway four, delta level,” I informed her. I rattled off the numbers which were stenciled on the wall where I was at for her to reference the precise recyclers I was talking about. “Just picked up a cold spot. Run a diagnostic to confirm.”