Space Marine John Stalvern crouched, relaxed but alert. His every sense was strained to the utmost to pierce the gathering gloom. He strove to detect the faintest skittering of claws on steel, or the faintest glow of bio-luminescence---in short, any sign of a hostile presence. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek, but he did not spare the time to brush it away. John Stalvern waited.
With a fizzing sound, the power systems shut down. The harsh flourescent lights above him blinked feebly and then went dark. John’s mind processed this fact calmly, and his vigilance did not falter. The emergency lights cycled on, bathing the area in a tense red glow that suited the mood. Grimly, John checked his rifle, and then set off, creeping towards the escape hatches.
John knew that the station was breached. He’d heard the other marines and the miners whisper the word to each other---sometimes as a joke, often in fear. Demons. Now the demons were in the base, lurking invisibly, waiting for the right moment to spring. John had expected an attack like this for years.
Security in the station had been extremely lax ever since they’d landed on Phobos. John remembered bringing an informal complaint to the Head of Security, Lieutenant Cernel Joson. Cernel was a graying, balding civilian who only tolerated the marines on sufferance. He had been lunching when John was shown to him, and continued to stuff his face as John described how the security cameras were badly placed, the weapons needed upgrading and the fences around the mining camp needed fixing. Cernel had just smiled at him patronizingly, and assured John of his best efforts. Even then, a part of John had known that his warnings would fall on deaf ears until it was too late. And now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
For fourteen years, John had served as a space marine. When he was just a boy growing up in a crowded little apartment complex built in the shadow of the spaceyards, he’d watched the massive spaceships leaving Earth. That’s when he’d decided he wanted to be on them.
He couldn’t expect the outburst of rage he’d received when he told his father his dreams. He didn’t understand it then, when his father shook with emotion, screaming, “No! You will be killed by demons!” For a while, the threat of demons kept John’s wanderlust in check. For a while, until he outgrew such childish notions, and enlisted with the Space Marine Corps. Demons were a childish concept, a boogeyman. They couldn’t exist.
As he crept down the eerily silent corridors of the UAC space station, John was all too convinced that demons were real.
A voice buzzed in his ear, “This is Joson. Marine, you are headed the wrong way. You must fight the demons.”
John disregarded the voice, and continued to work his way to the escape hatch. Cernel had been too busy stuffing himself to take steps to prevent such a crisis. Now he expected John to fight alone against an army of uncountables.
“Marine, you are acting in direct disobedience of my command. I am now sealing your escape path.”
A security door ground shut in front of John, blocking off his access to the escape hatches. This was something he never expected. That incompetent oaf Joson was probably trapped in his office, and expected John to break him out single-handedly.
The security door was foot-thick neosteel. It would be faster for John to cut around it. Readying his plasma rifle, he fired a few shots into the wall, and then placed a timed grenade in the hollow formed.
As the dust from the explosion cleared, John realised what a mistake he’d made. He’d blasted his way into one of the ammunition stores, and six or seven demons were skulking by the only door, evidently attracted by the noise. They were vaguely humanoid, with lumpy green flesh and wickedly curving claws on the end of their arms. On sighting John, they set up a cry that was half an aggressive roar, half a fearful wail.
John levelled his rifle and fired at the smaller demons, wounding one and causing the others to curl up in a ball.
The largest of the demons roared defiance as it lifted a nearby case and flung it at John. John had time to recognise it as a grenade case before terror took over and drove him the ground. A deafening explosion hurled John against a bulkhead as he tried to curl up into a foetal shape.
Blood was flowing down the side of John’s face when he staggered to his feet. He fired two shots into the dust and smoke, more hoping to frighten the demons than to hit them.
No sooner had he stumbled forward from his corner, than he felt the wind knocked out of him by a heavy and crushing weight. A rumbling noise accompanied the ceiling of the room collapsing, confining John in the rubble. His rifle was knocked from his grasp and lost in the debris. He was trapped, and unable to kill.
Adrenaline, pain and blood loss had combined to drive John into a mania. As he struggled ineffectually to free himself, he kept muttering, “No, I must...kill the demons”.
The radio carried Joson’s scornful chuckle to his ears. “No John. These creatures you have been murdering are the natural inhabitants of this planet. You, a mere pawn of the UAC, have been staging an invasion of their homeland. Without conscience, you have butchered hundreds of their kind, just to keep your mining operations running. You are exterminating their population, and destroying their ecology, and I and my band of activists are sworn to stop you.”
Johns mind struggled to process this, and gave up. Once more he groaned, “I must kill the demons”.
“No, John. You are the demons.”
John made no reply. His mind was gone. John was a zombie.
With a fizzing sound, the power systems shut down. The harsh flourescent lights above him blinked feebly and then went dark. John’s mind processed this fact calmly, and his vigilance did not falter. The emergency lights cycled on, bathing the area in a tense red glow that suited the mood. Grimly, John checked his rifle, and then set off, creeping towards the escape hatches.
John knew that the station was breached. He’d heard the other marines and the miners whisper the word to each other---sometimes as a joke, often in fear. Demons. Now the demons were in the base, lurking invisibly, waiting for the right moment to spring. John had expected an attack like this for years.
Security in the station had been extremely lax ever since they’d landed on Phobos. John remembered bringing an informal complaint to the Head of Security, Lieutenant Cernel Joson. Cernel was a graying, balding civilian who only tolerated the marines on sufferance. He had been lunching when John was shown to him, and continued to stuff his face as John described how the security cameras were badly placed, the weapons needed upgrading and the fences around the mining camp needed fixing. Cernel had just smiled at him patronizingly, and assured John of his best efforts. Even then, a part of John had known that his warnings would fall on deaf ears until it was too late. And now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
For fourteen years, John had served as a space marine. When he was just a boy growing up in a crowded little apartment complex built in the shadow of the spaceyards, he’d watched the massive spaceships leaving Earth. That’s when he’d decided he wanted to be on them.
He couldn’t expect the outburst of rage he’d received when he told his father his dreams. He didn’t understand it then, when his father shook with emotion, screaming, “No! You will be killed by demons!” For a while, the threat of demons kept John’s wanderlust in check. For a while, until he outgrew such childish notions, and enlisted with the Space Marine Corps. Demons were a childish concept, a boogeyman. They couldn’t exist.
As he crept down the eerily silent corridors of the UAC space station, John was all too convinced that demons were real.
A voice buzzed in his ear, “This is Joson. Marine, you are headed the wrong way. You must fight the demons.”
John disregarded the voice, and continued to work his way to the escape hatch. Cernel had been too busy stuffing himself to take steps to prevent such a crisis. Now he expected John to fight alone against an army of uncountables.
“Marine, you are acting in direct disobedience of my command. I am now sealing your escape path.”
A security door ground shut in front of John, blocking off his access to the escape hatches. This was something he never expected. That incompetent oaf Joson was probably trapped in his office, and expected John to break him out single-handedly.
The security door was foot-thick neosteel. It would be faster for John to cut around it. Readying his plasma rifle, he fired a few shots into the wall, and then placed a timed grenade in the hollow formed.
As the dust from the explosion cleared, John realised what a mistake he’d made. He’d blasted his way into one of the ammunition stores, and six or seven demons were skulking by the only door, evidently attracted by the noise. They were vaguely humanoid, with lumpy green flesh and wickedly curving claws on the end of their arms. On sighting John, they set up a cry that was half an aggressive roar, half a fearful wail.
John levelled his rifle and fired at the smaller demons, wounding one and causing the others to curl up in a ball.
The largest of the demons roared defiance as it lifted a nearby case and flung it at John. John had time to recognise it as a grenade case before terror took over and drove him the ground. A deafening explosion hurled John against a bulkhead as he tried to curl up into a foetal shape.
Blood was flowing down the side of John’s face when he staggered to his feet. He fired two shots into the dust and smoke, more hoping to frighten the demons than to hit them.
No sooner had he stumbled forward from his corner, than he felt the wind knocked out of him by a heavy and crushing weight. A rumbling noise accompanied the ceiling of the room collapsing, confining John in the rubble. His rifle was knocked from his grasp and lost in the debris. He was trapped, and unable to kill.
Adrenaline, pain and blood loss had combined to drive John into a mania. As he struggled ineffectually to free himself, he kept muttering, “No, I must...kill the demons”.
The radio carried Joson’s scornful chuckle to his ears. “No John. These creatures you have been murdering are the natural inhabitants of this planet. You, a mere pawn of the UAC, have been staging an invasion of their homeland. Without conscience, you have butchered hundreds of their kind, just to keep your mining operations running. You are exterminating their population, and destroying their ecology, and I and my band of activists are sworn to stop you.”
Johns mind struggled to process this, and gave up. Once more he groaned, “I must kill the demons”.
“No, John. You are the demons.”
John made no reply. His mind was gone. John was a zombie.
