Chapter 7

“Look, we already laid in the coordinates for Levisia station, so why don’t we just see this through?” Odybrix asked.

“I’m not saying we don’t,” Adam said. “My concerns mainly lie with big monsters that rip people in half and shrug off bullets.”

“Agreed! We require more firepower!” BOB said. “Perhaps we could use the preliminary funds to buy a rocket launcher? I could equip it to my chassis!”

“I think that might be a bit big for you, BOB,” Buddy said. “I’m pretty worried about the monster thing too. I wouldn’t want it to get its claws on any of you.”

“Us? You were the one dancing with it,” Odybrix said. “So we’re weighing scary monsters against one-hundred thousand credits.”

There was a moment of silent contemplation before Buddy spoke again, “You could get that B&F espresso machine you were talking about, Hoxley.”

“Oh yeah, that would be nice to have.”

“Excuse me!” BOB said, indignation bleeding into his consistent exuberance. “Coffee is my designated task! Have you been suggesting alternative caffeine solutions behind my back?”

“No, no. Well, yes,” Hoxley said. “I made an offhand remark about wanting something with a little more flavour.”

“Oh boy,” Odybrix said.

“How dare you! The coffee I produce is specially formulated to balance flavour, temperature, and caffeine! It is made with premium Starlux grounds!”

“Those are synthetic beans,” Hoxley said.

“I am synthetic!”

Hoxley looked like he had dug a hole he couldn’t get out of but decided to keep digging anyway. “Look, I was just remembering the coffee I used to make. Real beans, freshly ground, flavours accentuated with a pour-over. Coffee can be more than an uninspired vessel for caffeine. You can do a lot of things with a good machine.”

“A good machine?! Am I a bad machine?”

“No, no, I didn’t me-”

“Your position in my personal rankings of the crew has greatly diminished!” BOB said, stomping off.

“Ugh.”

“BOB has personal rankings for us?” Adam asked.

“I’m probably at the top,” Odybrix said, sipping her coffee. Hope you like oil in your coffee, Hox. That’s how you’ll be getting it for a while.”

Zenith had been standing at the door to the ops station, watching the drama unfold at the dining table in the cargo bay. She hadn’t said a word to anyone but Ozzy since she had been back; the events aboard the ship still rattled her. She didn’t like getting into her past, but the crew needed to know what she did.

“I’m going to the station,” she said. “That guy in the mech was my brother, Harlow. I have no idea how he’s tangled up in this, but I need to find out.”

“Your brother is a mercenary?” Adam asked.

“No. Materia Military Pilot. As straight edge as they come. Which is why this makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s undercover?”

“He’s a terrible liar. They would never choose him for something like that. I need to find out what he’s gotten himself into, so I’m going to the station, even if I have to leave the ship.”

“I want to go too,” Hoxley said. “Different reasons, but I’m with you.”

“Yea,” Odybrix said, “If this is a family thing, then we’ve got your back.”

“Me too,” Adam said. “I guess I’ll find a bigger gun. You know, in case we run into any more of those things while chasing Vaelor. Maybe a rocket launcher isn’t a bad idea.”

“Thanks. Glad to hear it guys,” Zenith said. “We have anything else to discuss, or should we all try and get some sleep?”

“I have a question,” Sturdy said from a dark corner of the cargo hold with his arms folded. “Not that I have any say here-”

“You don’t,” Odybrix said.

“What happens if your brother opens fire on us?”

“He won’t. Not when he sees me.”

“You sound pretty confident about that,” Sturdy said, raising an eyebrow.

“You let me worry about it.”

“Last question. Do you ever take that helmet off?”

“If you saw my face, I’d have to kill you,” Zenith said, walking out of the room.

“Was she serious?” Sturdy asked.

“Dunno,” Odybrix said. “I’ve seen her face and she hasn’t killed me. Maybe the countdown is on, or maybe she just doesn’t like you.”

His eyes opened to an unfamiliar sight. He always knew when he was dreaming, even when the experience was especially vivid. The dreams always followed a twisted thread: blood, writhing masses, panic, pain, and death. The flavours could change, but the ingredients were the same. This was different.

An expansive marble hall stretched out before him. Great pillars stood on both sides of the space, bearing a crumbling ceiling. Fissures in the stone ran from the entryway to the end of the hall, growing from tiny cracks to gaping holes in the stonework. Further in, the floor had broken and risen upward, creating a series of platforms that acted like steps. The structure ended with a dais bearing an altar, but that may have been the least interesting feature of the place.

The wall opposite Hoxley had been torn away. Fragments of stone spilled into a starry expanse, drifting toward an intense radiant light. He couldn’t make out what caused the light from his vantage point and wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. He turned to leave and something in the shadows caught his eye.

Hiding in the gloom cast by a pillar—no, all of the pillars—were bodies. They hung with dangling legs and arms outstretched, as if waiting for an embrace. Their faces—where were their faces? Hoxley blinked, trying to focus, then realized there was nothing there. Each head had been hollowed out from crown to jaw and replaced with an inky blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he came to realize that nothing held the bodies in place. They simply floated.

This is new. Maybe I should look around.

He climbed the shattered steps, drawn by the light and the protection it held over the darkness. From somewhere behind came a low, undulating click that sent a spike of terror through his heart. He clambered up the stones towards the light, not looking back as the sound grew. The source of the light became clear as he lifted himself onto the dais.

A burning ring of cosmic fire spun around the abyssal sphere of a black hole. Bits of debris from the building stretched out towards the phenomenon, pulled by its irresistible mass.

Bathed in the light of the accretion disk, Hoxley realized there was no escape. He looked back to the archway he had come from and saw a lithe, horrible form—the same one he had encountered aboard the barquentine. It took a slow, menacing step in his direction.

Panicked, he looked around for anything that could help. On the altar beside him he saw something grotesquely familiar. A stone basin rested on the surface, filled with red, writhing gore. Beside it, a bloody pattern twisted and swirled in his vision. He swiped his hand across it, smearing the blood across the altar in the hope it would somehow end the nightmare. The pattern stopped moving, but the creature still advanced.

He looked to the light and considered jumping out into space, but the thought was somehow more terrifying than what was behind him. He would have to fight. Fire flickered on his fingertips as he resolved to confront the creature. When he turned back to face it, something punctured his abdomen and burst out of his back. The flame in his hand died as he lifted his head to regard the monstrosity that would kill him.

The creature’s smooth, bulbous head tilted, as if curious about something. A horizontal line formed across its face, splitting open to the sound of clicking coming from somewhere inside. Rows of glistening teeth revealed themselves as it leaned into Hoxley. He closed his eyes, anticipating that the teeth would close around his head, but the violence didn’t come. The creature gently touched its head to his and held it there. The gesture almost felt affectionate.

Lightning bolts of pain shot through him as the creature slowly lifted him with the claw sticking through his guts. It walked him to the edge of the platform and extended its arm. Gravity pulled him from the blood-slicked claws into the starry expanse. He grabbed at the creature, desperately trying to stop himself from being pulled in, but it stepped away.

He tried to look at what was behind him, but found himself paralyzed. An abyssal force locked him in place as it drew him in. He felt the pull at his toes, then his legs, then everywhere. The black hole began the merciless work of tearing him apart, stripping him atom by atom. He felt his bones shatter, his tendons stretch and snap, his nerves burn and disintegrate. His annihilation and anguish spanned eons, all of which he was conscious for. At some point during his agony, he realized the bodies in the hall had turned to face him. Empty faces watched his demise for all eternity. Then he heard someone from behind him speak.

“Boy, this looks like a bad one, Hox.”

Hoxley woke, fingers wet from where Beast had been licking them. “Xavier?”

“Yes. Sorry for the intrusion. I overheard your new buddy whimpering,” The AI explained. “Are you alright? I can call Jim.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hoxley said, picking Beast up onto the bed with him. “Just a bad dream.”

Buddy was still feeling a little queasy, but was satisfied knowing the RAD pills had begun purging the radiation from her body. In a few hours, she could stop spending so much time in the washroom dealing with her own purging. She turned the tap on, splashed her face with cold water, and looked in the mirror. The dark rings under her eyes were the only indication of the toll of the day. She looked far less haggard than her friends. Well, maybe discounting BOB and Jim because they were robots, oh, and Zenith because she was always wearing her helmet.

Should she look worse off? There was very little frame of reference for what was considered a bad day. In her limited experience, getting shot at, being attacked by monsters, and getting hurled into space seemed pretty normal. Maybe it was the monster part that put everyone on edge. It was kinda spooky.

She splashed her face once more, then turned to grab a towel and noticed something out of the corner of her eye—her reflection didn’t move. She tilted her head and the image remained locked. She raised a hand, then winked, then stuck out her tongue. The reflection didn’t move.

Huh. Pretty sure mirrors aren’t supposed to do this.

The woman in the mirror smiled at her. Only, it wasn’t a nice smile. There was something upsetting about the way she looked at Buddy, like she knew something bad and was eager to share. Her lips moved, soundlessly speaking something Buddy couldn’t make out. She wasn’t sure she wanted the message the mirror woman was trying to give, but she found herself leaning in. The silent phrase repeated and the doppelganger looked at Buddy expectantly.

“I, I don’t understand. Maybe you could write it out? Who are you?”

The other her gave a pitying look, then stepped back and raised an arm at Buddy—she was holding a gun. Buddy jolted back and tried to flee, but the washroom door wouldn’t budge. She ducked down as the gun swept towards her and hopped onto the toilet, trying to find a space where her reflection couldn’t see her. It was no good, there was no place in the small room that the other her couldn’t see. She watched as her reflection took aim at her chest, repeated the silent phrase, and pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. Buddy held a hand to her ear, then to her chest—no blood, no pain. A fractured reflection stared back at her in the mirror, fear and confusion on its face. She looked down at her other hand and saw that she was holding the gun. She gingerly placed it on the tank of the toilet and stepped down.

I’m going to have to ask Jim about the side effects of RAD pills.

Stress was a straightforward concept for Adam. You felt it, responded accordingly to whatever caused it, then exercised until the feeling went away. His mom had explained the chemistry of it to him early on. Nothing vented cortisol like a few hundred push-ups. It worked every time.