Baked Scribe Flashback : Last Chances
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“This is Zola Cameron, of interstellar flight 19. I am broadcasting from our escape craft, sending on sub channel 4-Alpha. I can’t tell if anyone is receiving this transmission, but it is definitely making its way out into the net. I have dispatched a signal beacon with this same message. We were dispatched here after request for aid from Colby group Victor. I am attaching my written report to this message as I am the only survivor of our crew.”
She turned at the sound behind her, the shifting of crates as something passed by them. She picked up the pistol from the console next to her and took aim, waiting for the thing to reveal itself. All she heard was the hum from the engines but despite her other conviction that nothing had followed her on board, she now felt doubt. She reached back and paused the recording, standing up and started to make her way around the cabin.
As she walked, she kept her eyes constantly moving, searching for the creatures in her peripheral vision, as the things couldn’t be seen looking straight at them. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear it squirming around back there somewhere, could feel the outer edges of its mind, trying to take cold of hers. The vibrations in the deck below her gave something else to focus on, something to help close her mind off to the external assault.
There was only one place where the things could be hiding she was surprised to find her hand was rock steady as she reached down for the hatch that led to the cargo bay.
The lights were flickering below, as the ship continued to draw power from less essential systems to keep life-support operational. Zola moved slowly down the ladder and began making her way through the cargo compartment, maintaining a firm grip on the gun.
The air was stale, and it was cold as there were fewer requirements for climate control. The lights were dim, only one row of directional bulbs going down the center of the aisle with tall rows of cargo pods on each side.
She got halfway down the cargo bay when she realized that the sounds were coming from behind her as well as ahead. The idea that there could be more than one of the things made her skin go cold. It had taken eight of them to kill one, and everyone but her had lost their lives in the process. She had one weapon. The position she was in was only going to bring on an ambush, so she cut abruptly to her right, through two of the containers, and pressed her hand to a panel on the wall. An access hatch slid open and she dove through. Agonizing screams of rage shattered the air around her before the door slid shut, sealing her safely inside.
The escape pod would not disengage from housing while the ship was a normal operational mode. She could at least, however, stay hidden in here and have some time to at least try and come up with a plan. She tapped a few buttons on the control panel and the polymers in the window went black.
She could feel the pressure, already, from their mental probes. They knew she was in here. From this distance, she could prevent them from completely taking over, but not enough to keep herself invisible. The key was to focus, to keep control while coming up with some kind of plan.
The hatch rattled against the pod, shaking as it did so and she could hear the things shrieking out there. There were at least four of them.
There is no way she would be able to survive this.
Maybe there never had been a chance. Maybe from the beginning the only plan that made sense was to prevent these things from spreading to another system. Kill the virus by cutting off its food.
She might not be able to launch, but the computer right here was good enough to access the ships mainframe. From there, she could initiate the self-destruct sequence and let an inferno do what they had failed to do already.
As she pulled up the route command menu, she noticed that her other hand was now creeping towards the controls for the hatch. Whispers in the back of her head told her what to do and she slapped herself to try and fight it off. She repeated the mantra, visualized her center, and immediately the mental grip began to slacken. Her hand still felt like it had an invisible tether, tugging at it by an unseen puppeteer, but now she felt like she had more control. The hand was still sluggish but it least it worked.
It would not do so for long.
The company had installed safeguards to ensure that one person couldn’t go crazy and blow the ship on their own. It had happened before. As such, the computer had to conduct an extensive search of the ship for any additional lifeforms to make sure she was alone, and allowed to take such action.
Her free hand was now raising the gun, taking aim just above her right eye.
Zola shook her head, leaned back in the chair until it lifted up off the floor, and brought it crashing down on her foot. The sudden pain brought her screaming back from the edge and the mental grip vanished.
It had worked, but really had been no more than a parlor trick. They were testing her now and her tricks were only going to work for so long. Before long, the multiple minds would start working together in a combined attack and it would be all over for her.
Five minutes at the most.
The computer chimed in to announce that the system and verified her claim. No other human life on board. She pulled up a list of master commands and found the proper fifteen digit code. Pressing the key sequence that brought the numeric keypad out of console, her head was starting to spin.
Her brain had stopped telling her body to breathe.
Spots were already starting to form around her as she beat at the console. Her eyes started to blink rapidly, out of her own control, and she struggled to find the keys.
She had to focus. Even like this she had at least 15 more seconds until she lost consciousness. Her hand raced to the keypad, dancing across and entering the code as well as her personal authorization sequence.
Her finger brushed against the final key and dropped away. She couldn’t tell if she had fully depressed it or not. The victory she had won was articulated first in the howls of painful rage in her head, followed by the sound of explosions around her, chased closely after by the warm embrace of blossoming tendrils of fire.
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