Crabmeat — Roleplayer Guild

“Calm, Henry.” Raleigh placed his hands on the siren’s shoulders and channeled his natural energies into him. His voice was soft and rhythmic. “Nature is clear and sets its own pace, like the spring that issues from a mountain. Remember those springs, Henry; they flow through your veins.” The dryad’s rectangular eyes implored the Näck’s spirit to relax. This situation required clarity and focus.

He heard Dr. Kinnon still hard at work saving Aislinn’s life and Atticus kicking the Nixie’s remains in frustration but remained concentrated on soothing Henry. He’d only known the water spirit the best part of half an hour and already his life was indebted to him. If the Nixie he had silenced had screamed as Raleigh speared through her, at that close proximity and hearing greatly enhanced, the bones in his ears would have shattered in an instant and lodged in his brain like shrapnel. Chilling his saviour out was the least Raleigh could do.

Atticus’ breathing had become noticeably heavy. Raleigh knew he was turning. Pull it together, Atticus! the voice in his head shouted. He was no telepath, but the message seemed to get through. Raleigh listened as the incubus’ exasperation died down.

His mind now mulled over any details Henry had revealed about this ‘Lady of Ice’. “Sorcery”. “Sovereign in the North”. “War”.

A light bulb flashed at the last tidbit. Niffelheim. The realm of the jötnar, or frost giants. There was a link, no matter how tentative.

“Now, Henry, you mentioned the Lady of Ice is the spawn of Niffleheim, correct? You may need to help me with my knowledge of Norse mythology but isn’t there a story that the personification of the moon, Máni, had relations with a female jötunn? The jötnar hail from Niffleheim, right? Could this so-called ‘Lady of Ice’ be somehow related?”

Raleigh became aware of the insanity of his words. “I know this sounds farfetched, but all stories come from somewhere. Just hear me out. We all know about the link between wolves and the moon; werewolves and the moon. If this Lady of Ice holds some kind of power over the moon, then…” he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, “she would, in theory, control the werewolves.”

Raleigh turned to Mr. Hoyle. His words could be inferred badly and it was not his intention to insult his host and employer. The lycan was in deep concentration trying to save his sister and appeared not to hear the dryad. Then, Dr. Kinnon opened his eyes and fell to the floor, drained of energy from the transfusion.

“Please, please, help him,” came Hoyle’s plea to Henry and Raleigh.

Raleigh swiftly cantered over to Dr. Kinnon to check his breathing. “He’s alright, Mr. Hoyle. Just sleeping. You should rest too, sir, it would be unwise to move about after imparting such a large amount of energy.” The ancient werewolf had already slumped down, hand over face. He began to talk, of the Solas na gealaí.

The Solas na gealaí. ‘The Light of the moon’ – ‘Moonlight’. The image of the bone implement blinked in Raleigh’s mind. His stomach rolled like the tide and washed feelings of dread and nausea through him. He was right. He knew the object was a bad omen from the moment his eyes clasped upon it. And he had a dreadful suspicion he knew where it had come from. Or rather, what it had come from.

There wasn’t time to voice his suspicion as Reginald rose to his feet, transformed, and set off into the shadows of the cave with his weakened sister, miraculously alive, slung over his shoulder.

Raleigh peered around him to his companions to see if they would follow. His gaze fell upon the demon and vampire in a tenuous embrace and met Atticus’ crimson eye.

Western Sea
January 9, 2212

The Demoiselle cruised along the boundary between light and shadow. The depth – 190 metres – would slowly brighten over the course of the day as the sun drew closer to its zenith. The light penetrated deeper on this planet than on Earth due to closer proximity to its star. Titus wondered how warm it was on the surface; the temperature down there read 69 degrees Fahrenheit, warm for the time of day.

It was still early morning, around 7am by Titus’ approximations. Of course, the days on Invictus were different, an extra three hours to Earth. The sun would move more slowly and Titus dreaded the initial effect on his sleep pattern.

Titus figured this was the wisest depth to drift at; there was no telling what manner of alien wildlife lurked in the waters. Marine life on Earth tended to be most abundant in the pelagic zone above them, decreasing with depth, but Titus didn’t like the idea of exploring the abyss of an alien planet. Not on his first day anyway.

He was erring on the side of caution. The havoc the drop pods had wreaked in the upper atmosphere no doubt had produced a shit storm the likes of which Titus had never seen. Debris and errant crafts would be hurtling towards the earth like an iron rain and he reckoned it was safer underwater for the time being, regardless of potential unknown dangers.

What had caused those pods to be so frantic? Panic was anticipated among the inexperienced pilots but not on a scale like that. It was like they’d just been jettisoned from the Olympus unmanned.

Titus wondered how the Olympus had fared. He’d seen the size of the asteroid field from the hangar bay and knew then it would be devastating. How the lunar debris had ended up so far from its origin was a mystery and made Titus anxious. They’d thought they’d known so much about this virgin planet yet they were so unprepared. If only they’d considered the lack of communication from the Ararat and Fujisan more seriously. Their naïveté had cost thousands of lives already.

“Hoverfly, do you copy? Hoverfly, do you copy?” Mickey repeated, toggling the radio frequency. They’d been sitting ducks for the last half hour, waiting in silence for any whispers of communication. Mickey, in his expert knowledge, thought it strange that no frequencies were being picked up, despite the distance from the colony. Even radio systems from forty years ago could transmit this far and more. “Perhaps their towers are down,” Titus had said, denying a darker possibility.

The sea had been empty bar for a school of strange corkscrew-finned “fish” Mickey pointed out like a kid at an aquarium. Titus too was awestruck, overwhelmed by the first sign of alien life. The torpedolike creatures were like nothing on Earth, their individual evolutionary path literally a world apart. He reckoned the scientists would be ecstatic here and wouldn’t know where to begin.

The worst part about the silence was the lurking presence in the fuselage. The marines were so quiet. Too quiet. Mickey had confirmed their safety but you wouldn’t have guessed it. The Colonel had graced the cockpit briefly after they’d secured a stable course, but only to utter, “Good job,” in a deep coarse voice flavoured with Mandarin. At least he was satisfied.

Titus peered into the darkness below. He’d turned on the infrared vision on his helmet, capable of detecting the most minute traces of heat. There was activity down there but very distant, indicated by blotches of dark blue-violet.

“Magnify times forty.” A square blinked around the focus of his eye and produced a zoomed window. The colouration brightened to a lime green, but, to Titus’ amazement, definition wasn’t added; they were still amorphous blobs. How deep is this sea? he wondered.

Judging from the stillness of the heat signatures, Titus hypothesised they were volcanic. The lieutenant was no geologist but if the planet’s composition was similar to Earth’s then the crust would be close to the mantle at extreme depths. If there was a fault line running through here, might there be volcanoes near Landfall?

“Hey, Maverick, look!”

“Stop calling me that.” Titus closed the magnification window and turned to look at what Mickey identified. A large orange object loomed fifty metres above them. He switched off the infrared and squinted.

The Hoverfly coasted in the filtered light. Its wings were outspread and it looked like a giant flying fish.

“Hoverfly, do you copy?” Mickey repeated again. “Something’s up with their commlink. Should we go up and take a peek?”

Titus disengaged auto-pilot and swung the Demoiselle around and upwards in a graceful movement. They were level with the other damselfly in minutes and drew alongside it. It was empty.

“What on earth,” Mickey uttered, not realising the irony of the phrase. There were no clear signs of struggle in the cockpit and the rear exit was sealed. Titus drifted the Demoiselle round to inspect the Hoverfly from the front.

“Magnify times ten.” The window homed in on the cabin through the cockpit screen.

“Colonel, sir,” Mickey announced over the loudspeaker, “I think there’s something you should come see.”

Colonel Xing entered swiftly. Titus and Mickey swivelled round and saluted before Mickey explained the situation.

“We found the Hoverfly…”

“I can see that. Why is it empty?”

“We… We don’t know, sir.”

The Colonel glided forward and leant forward between the two, squinting into the deserted craft. “You’re helmet.” He stretched out his hand to Mickey, still peering out to sea. Mickey obliged. The Colonel donned it and magnified. After a moment’s pause it was apparent to Titus that he didn’t have a fucking clue either. He handed back the helmet.

“How many MMU’s does this vessel have?”

“Three,” Titus chipped in, “Sir.”

Silence ensued. Titus wasn’t sure whether the Colonel was unimpressed or simply cold. His face betrayed no feeling.

“I will take two men to search inside. Where is the manual hatch override?”

“To the right of the exit, sir. There will be a handle under a keypad. My serial number is 6078-5123-7600. Shall I write it down for you, sir?”

“There is no need. You are coming. Fetch the suits.”

Titus felt a wave of adrenaline rush through him. This voyage was getting better and better. He followed the Corporal into the cabin. It was dark, illuminated only by two thin light fixtures that ran down the ceiling of the gangway. The seated marines were still as statues. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. One of them was trying.

The lieutenant’s eyes flickered over the knife-wielder. He was ghostly pale and he stared at Titus with cruel, dead eyes. Titus quickly moved on. Eye contact was bad.

Sliding open a plastiform wardrobe of sorts, Titus retrieved the three vac-packed suits. He handed one to the Corporal, held his and laid the other on the floor for whoever was chosen to assist.

“Corporal Fang, let’s go.” The man with the knife got up. Typical.

Titus ushered the remaining marines into the cockpit and gave the cabin a last sweeping look to make sure everything was secure and waterproofed. It would be underwater in a minute. He started to suit up.

It was a tight squeeze in the cockpit, Titus imagined, made worse by the solemnity the soldiers brought with them. By the time Mickey had brought the ship round behind and facing away from the Hoverfly, the three explorers were ready. Decompression and deoxygenation were initiated with a pressurised hiss and the two marines and the pilot stood silently.

Titus looked to the airlock through the fishbowl plexiglass. After a few minutes, it opened.

Water flooded in as the platform lowered into the marine void. Titus followed the marines’ lead and pulled himself along the rungs on the wall. They pushed out into the alien waters and jetted towards the hull of the Hoverfly.

Titus watched the Colonel and soldier move ahead of him. He noticed a railgun holstered on a belt around the waist of Fang, dangling loosely in the current. He hoped they wouldn’t need it.

Colonel Xing was the first to reach the ship, closely followed by Fang and Titus. They parted to allow the lieutenant access to the keypad. He punched in his serial code.

Text appeared on the interface:

ACCESS DENIED

Bemused, Titus tried again.

ACCESS DENIED

“Someone’s overridden my command codes.” Titus couldn’t understand it. How and why would someone do this?

“Move aside, lieutenant.”

“Wait a minu…”

BOOM! The airlock exploded, sending sheets of burnt metal drifting out into the open sea. Titus was blown back a few metres by the impact and struggled to regain balance in shock. The piercing scream of the shell reverberated through his helmet and rolled like thunder through the water and down into the abyss.

Titus looked to Fang. His face looked disinterested as the water around the barrel of his railgun fizzled. These guys are fucking nuts!

“After you,” ordered the Colonel.

Titus went in reluctantly. He couldn’t wait to get these maniacs off his back. The inside was still lit and didn’t look much out of the ordinary except for the odd floating crate. There were no signs of struggle, just unfastened seat harnesses flapping like seaweed. He inspected the provisions and nothing seemed to be missing. Where the hell are they?

The lieutenant moved to the cockpit. Its slide doors were open and he drifted effortlessly in. The chamber was much like the cabin, empty. Auto-pilot was engaged and the radar blipped quietly on the co-pilot’s console. A small glimmer caught Titus’ eye and he moved to see what it was.

A military dog tag floated by the pilot’s chair, attached to a ball bearing necklace. Titus cradled it in his hand and read the inscription:

PETERS
JOHN
546-32-8280
RH POSITIVE
PROTESTANT

Titus didn’t know the name. It must’ve been one of the military personnel aboard. He turned to beckon the Corporal. He handed him the dog tag which the superior officer briefly scanned then tied around his arm.

“Sir, I’m resetting the auto-pilot to take the ship to the surface.” The Corporal nodded. The ship shortly began to change direction. “Demoiselle, do you copy?” Titus said through his helmet comm link.

“Loud and clear, Hoverfly.”

“Follow us to the surface.”

“Roger that, on your six.” The ships ascended.

As did something in the black abyss.

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