QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 3: Deluge]

The hall had been beautiful once.

It was a perfect octagon in shape. Flowing arches of segmented metal had once swept up from each corner towards the high, domed ceiling. Curious geometric designs had spiraled outwards on the walls between each arch’s legs, each one unique, describing in their curves and angles the mathematical concepts used to allow this ship to travel between the stars. Beneath each design had stood a sturdy-looking door, inset in the walls. Balconies circled the room’s heights. A single column had risen from the center of the hall, at the floor ringed by six hexagonal podiums and reaching all the way up to the ceiling. Light had filled the whole place, golden and austere.

That was millennia ago.

Now the hall was ruined. The column in the center had collapsed along with the ceiling, spilling huge chunks of rubble across the floor. Two of the arches had sagged and fallen in a twisted heap of metal, and a third seemed to be going the same way. Rust ate away at all of them. The angular designs on the walls were stained with unidentifiable fluids that ran in discolored rivulets onto the ground. All but one of the balconies had fallen. Scraps of beaten machinery and unrecognizable debris fought for room on the floor. And not a single light shone from anywhere in the room.

That is, nowhere but from its sole occupant.

Arokht charged, loping gorilla-like as fast as his strained body could. Several tons of iceworlder met the door’s metal surface with a deafening crash. Several tons of iceworlder bounced back. The door held fast. Just like it had the last eight times he'd tried this.

Snarling in frustration, Arokht reared up and hammered the door with his fists, again and again. More impacts rang out, echoing through the hall. Pain fueled adrenaline. Frustration fueled rage. Servomotors assisted muscle. But adrenaline, rage, and muscle failed to do anything, to put a single dent in the damned door.

He punched the door one last time for spite’s sake, then sank down in front of it, panting. Arokht hurt. Arokht hurt everywhere he could think of. His right eyepiece flickered fitfully behind a web of cracks, the hardware housed within badly damaged. The left eyepiece still worked. It was the only thing letting him see in the darkness. It also let him see his multiple damaged organs, his wounded ankle, the power failures in various parts of his suit, several burst coolant lines, two ruptured eardrums, a lump of tungsten lodged in his abdomen, and a whole host of gouges and scratches disfiguring his armor. For the last few minutes he’d been getting by through the remainder of his armor’s painkillers and sheer force of anger, but the cumulative weight of his injuries was beginning to press down on him. Pain throbbed through his body to the beat of his hearts. And it felt like the suit was slowing down, too. Getting slower to respond to his movements.

The iceworlder carefully pushed himself up to all fours. Then a sudden lance of pain tore through his chest and he sank to his knees, coughing violently. He retched. Teal blood spilled into his helmet. Internal plumbing siphoned it away as quickly as it could, but Arokht still gagged on it.

His chest throbbed, another entry in his long list of pain. His thoughts were clouding up. He shook his head, doglike. What had happened? Somebody had died. One of the contestants. Anila? Where was…

...it was the worm. Floating scraps of orange flesh. Arokht knew what blast damage looked like. Somebody had killed the worm. And because the worm had died, the Outsider had brought them…

The Outsider. Arokht struggled back up to his feet, a sudden fury blazing through him. The Outsider! It had been there, it had been right in front of him! If only the sudden shift hadn’t disoriented him. Arokht would not be toyed with by that thing. He would crush it. He would tear it to pieces, he would…

...would…?

His strength failed. Arokht collapsed heavily, his anger flowing away as quickly as it came. His head felt filled with fog. He grunted, tried to crawl away. From what? He was having trouble seeing. Everything seemed to be getting dim, even though his eyes were wide open. The pain was starting to bother him less. He’d been doing something. What was it? What was he...

---

"...too different. Different materials too, looks like. It's definitely not part of the ship."

"Advise I caution. Alive is organism still."

"Shit, this thing's alive? You sure it's not a robot?"

"Can see your eyes beyond visible spectrum? Unusually cold it is, but living it is."

Arokht stirred, groaning. His eyelids felt too heavy to open, and the pain was making an unwelcome return, but he still had two functional eardrums.

"Say I not the truth? Living."

He heard footsteps moving towards him. Human, judging by the gait. They stopped just beside his head. Arokht heard the rasp of tough fabric sliding over itself.

"Hey. Can you hear me? Are you all right?" A pause. "Can you even understand me?"

Arokht opened his eyes. Blinding light shone through his one functional eyepiece, and though automatic polarizers dimmed it to tolerable levels he still couldn't make out anything beyond it.

"Alien," he grunted. "Move."

The human backed off obligingly, taking its light with it. Arokht's eyepiece depolarized and afforded him a clearer look at his visitors.

He was right. A human crouched beside his head--a stocky female in a bulky canvas jumpsuit covered with pockets. She wore a vest and a tough leather belt over the suit. Both vest and belt were covered in pockets as well, but the belt also held a variety of tools both familiar and esoteric. None of her skin showed, except on her face, and even most of that was hidden under a yellow hard hat and a clumsy-looking rebreather. What little was visible was the color of teak. A lamp shone from the hat's brim. She wore a satchel slung over one shoulder.

Behind her stood something like a mix between a lobster and a bacteriophage. It had four legs, each ending in a chitinous hoof. Those legs radiated from a thick waist, which in turn sprouted an upper body shaped something like a question mark, or a shrimp curled up around itself. At the end of the question mark hung an insectoid head covered by a hood-shaped shell. Three yellow eyes gleamed beneath it. In line with its head, on either side of its body, two triple-jointed arms curled, each terminating in triple-pronged crustacean claws. A deep red carapace sheathed its entire body. Metallic implants seemed to be attached directly to its shell.

"Identify," growled Arokht. Shakily at first, but growing more confident with every second, the iceworlder began pushing himself back up.

"Easy, easy." The human got to her feet as well, taking a few more steps back. "Don't move so much. You're in really bad shape."

Arokht glanced at the warnings still scrolling down his eyepiece. Thank you for letting me know, he thought, irritably.

Slowly but steadily, he rose up to his full height, revealing the railgun still clenched in his secondary hands. "Identify!"

"Easy," the human repeated. She held up her hands, palm out. "You don't have to point that thing at me. I'm Mary. Mary Santos. I'm a salvager."

She pointed a thumb at the alien behind her. "That's Ak. Ak's a..."

Ak stepped forward. "Archaeologist am I. Ak'kubal^ut am I," it buzzed, clicking on the ^. A faint hint of reproach entered its voice. "Calls she I Ak."

"What it said," said Mary. "I'm human. Ak's kaltul. Er, ka^tul. And you?"

Arokht tilted his head. He still found it strange how none of the humans he'd met knew what he was. His kind weren't exactly a secret where he came from.

"Arokht," he rumbled. "Iceworlder.”

His eyes traveled from the two aliens to the door behind them. A neat rectangle had been cut out of it, its edges orange and molten.

Mary followed Arokht’s gaze and grinned, though her mask concealed her expression. “We heard you knocking. Figured we’d give you some help." Her voice turned wry. "Though it looks like you need more help than that.”

The iceworlder turned his attention back to the human. He was out of his depth yet again-- seriously wounded, trapped in an unfamiliar environment and surrounded by aliens. He needed a guide. He needed a medic. He needed his suit repaired. Arokht considered his options.

“Then help me,” said Arokht.

Ak nodded. “Follow,” it hissed.

The red alien turned and scuttled out the door. Arokht limped behind it. Mary walked beside him. Together, the three vanished into the derelict’s depths.

The hall behind them stood dark and silent once more.

---

ak and maryShow