Augur

With the cargo shutter obstacle overcome, though its cycle not completed due to it taking too long and him cutting it prematurely, Marus is now finally inside the Frenzy. The cargo bay, as he would expect, is stacked with shelving racks and equipment.  Where he ended the cycle has left the shutter a third of the way open. That had been enough for him to slip inside. Though, with the ships wider power function unresponsive his field of view is limited to the lamps built into either of his shoulders and the one that is dead centre of his bulbous mucus green coloured helmet. It isn’t at all ideal he knows, but it could be a lot worse. Still, he needs to assess the status of the hold first before making any attempt to push deeper into the structure. This isn’t just a rescue mission after all. It’s also an analysis and possibly recovery mission. However, the recovery very much depends on the status of the crew. With that in mind Marus sets to trudging about the cargo hold. His movements look slow even though they are not. He’s heard many ways of describing the speed with which space walkers move. None of them are accurate. They just seem it when you have nothing to compare it to. After all, human brains were never built to comprehend living in space. It’s something that they have adapted to over the centuries. Some better than others, which is why inaccuracies and myths are commonplace but held as facts.

Marus turns down a row of floor to almost ceiling shelves that are bolted to the deck and then braced to the next identical set of shelves as well as the nearby wall. Everything the beams of the white lights from his Tera-3 suit touch show up as muted colours. It’s caused by the lack of atmosphere and not the light itself, as people might believe. Marus doesn’t understand the complexities of it. He just remembers hearing a physicist correct one of Marus’ fellow cadets when he’d been back at the academy on Volt-5. That feels so long ago, he thinks to himself in the moments before he shakes himself free of his memories to refocus on the job at hand. His eyes and head scan back and forth as he presses forward. Sadly, even after all this time his eyes still work quicker than his head. He’s never gotten used to the lamps that dictate what he can and can’t see in the void when power is down.

Having reached the end of the third row Marus can honestly say that nothing is out of place, as yet. That offers him some semblance of relief to conclude and yet at the same time forces him to consider whether this is a waste of time and he should simply press on to other sections of the Frenzy. His consideration on the subject ends suddenly when the headlamp and his eyes catch the wide open doorway that links the hold to the rest of the Frenzy’s interior. Marus sighs defeated. It is as he feared but did not wish to believe. Not that he can be sure the entire rest of the Frenzy is decompressed as well. Though, with this door wide as it is it strongly suggests that it might be. Janus Order command would likely concur and yet operating procedure dictates that he at least try to establish comms through IBLS for authorisation. It seems pointless, but he does it nonetheless and opens a free link. Then he sends the package for a request connection. It’s granted almost instantaneously. However, with that established he is ordered to provide his authorisation code. He does, non-verbally as verbal in his mind is non-secure, after which he is dropped into a queue. “You are thirty fourth in line.” The automated voice informs only for Marus to roll his eyes exasperated by the inefficiency of command. 

If he was as difficult to contact, or slow to respond, he would find himself with sanctions issued against him. In addition to probably a boring groundside detail offering security to some USC dignitary who’s located on a system where there is no danger of anything at all occurring.

The Janus Order soldier isn’t about to stand around idle while he’s forced to wait however and so he returns to his casing of the cargo section. He had, before stumbling upon the open hatch to the rest of the vessel, covered almost a third of the equipment laden space. In his mind he might as well get it covered while he waits and so dives, not in any way literally, down the next row of shelves. The row is as equally boring as those he has ventured down previously and yet it’s still better than loitering about waiting for a command issued handler to pick up the line.

Marus ventures down the next row still eager to be productive. He passes the half way point, only to hear something. His first reaction is an immediate halt. His second is for his hand drop to his sidearm. Sadly, he isn’t sure as to where the sound came from. Chiefly because it sounded like it was both behind and beside him simultaneously. That should be impossible, he knows. Unless, that is, there are multiple sources of what he can only describe as a rapid ticking sound. Not ticking like a clock. More like a dozen tiny pins tapping in quick succession like…walking. He can think of no better way to explain it as his eyes shift from right to left while he remains static and in place. He isn’t afraid. He is simply listening and waiting. If it happened once it is bound to happen again, is his thinking, and yet he gets no feeling of a presence other than his own. Perhaps, he thinks, it is all in my head. Or, maybe it’s a malfunction in the auditory speakers built into my Tera-3. Both possibilities seem unlikely. But then so does the sound of skittering he heard from seemingly one source and two different directions. I have to consider… His thought is cut off and immediately forgotten as the line is passed through and a voice announces, “Operative, your request has been granted. I am your command appointed handler, Beryl.”

Oh great, Marus thinks, I’ve been landed with an automate to chat with. He rolls his eyes as he says, “Update request.” His voice gives no hint of the disappointment he feels at being linked with a dumb AI for the duration of this mission.

“Inform…” Is the bland reply uttered directly into his ears.

“I’m aboard Frenzy. Systems are down. Entrance gained via the cargo shutter. Hatch from cargo to rest of the vessel wide. Looks to have already suffered prior decom. Update order request suggested.” Marus quickly relates. He allows his alert to drop now that it has been almost three minutes since the sound he thought he heard.

“Crew status?”

“Unknown. Found no one alive or dead. Looks like a ghost ship. An augur.”

“Premature conclusion noted and filed.” Beryl advises only for Marus to again roll his eyes. He adds a shake of his head slight and in triplicate to the roll. It seems only right when a dumb AI is wasting your time.

Still, if he didn’t know better he’d swear this Beryl is doing it just to give her fraction of a complete mind the time to weave a response to his previously uttered request. It shouldn’t take this long, not even for an automate like her and yet it’s all Marus can come up with as to why she is delaying and has as yet not offered a direct response.

“Status request update granted. Rescue parameter demoted in favour of data and recovery of all Pillar of Frenzy ship files. Confirm?” Beryl’s rigid barely female sounding voice declares after nearly a full minute of additional silence.

“Confirm.” Marus states immediately and without an ounce of thought needed. He finds it sad that he’s quicker to react than an automate.

That delay alone ignites his suspicions. Then to make matters worse Beryl adds, “Overwatch feed will be provided for the duration of the remaining mission.” With that Marus knows it isn’t this automate, dumb AI, whatever you might want to call it that is slow. No. Rather, it is proof, however meagre, that someone is behind the scenes, relaying orders via Beryl. Marus hasn’t’ a clue why but after so long as a soldier in the Janus Order he is well versed in the strange intricacies of command. They’re the kind that have to be indulged without proper explanation, or seemingly purpose.

“Confirm?” Beryl enquires only for Marus to respond in the affirmative, again without having to think. Yet, when Beryl orders “Recommence search operative” Marus would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that he finds it more than a tad grating.

Regardless, he’s confirmed now and so resumes his sweep of the cargo hold of the journeyman class starship. An icon on his HUD blinks to inform him that the IBLS is still open, as well as to advise that the handler also has camera access privileges. They won’t be able to see much, even less than he will to be truthful, and yet if Beryl, and whoever is relaying commands through her, wishes to get a live view they are welcome to. He doubts they’ll see much of interest or import. This is just a cargo hold filled with racks and secured equipment. Less equipment than he would have expected at this end, but still nothing out of the ordinary.

Though, with the shelves as sparsely occupied as they are it does suggest to the soldier that perhaps the Frenzy had been acting as a makeshift ferry. It wouldn’t be the first time, even if it isn’t the purpose of such a craft. Like was said before, spaceships are expensive, so the more purposes they can fulfil, whether designed to or not, the better and cheaper it is for all involved.

Marus, left with two rows to traverse, wastes no time. The sooner this is over the sooner he can press on. Beryl has said nothing via the open connection which is still very much active. He isn’t surprised at all. It’s about what he would… Marus turns down the last row only to come to an immediate and abrupt halt. His brow furrows and his top lip curls. He fully understands what he is faced with and yet at the same time he doesn’t because the row, or what should be a row, of shelves suddenly ends. Not in an organic or natural way as would be expected however. Rather, there is a weave of maybe more than a dozen pipes and conduits tightly crossing one another in every conceivable direction. To make matters worse they intersect with the shelf racks where they end suddenly. As a result the pipes appear to be conjoined and merged with the shelves in addition to the limited equipment strapped down upon them. Marus blinks over and over in hopes that he is somehow seeing things. But when Beryl says, “How odd” he knows that he isn’t, which is reassuring in some ways but not others.

“Press on. There is no use in attempting to survey this section any further.” Are the next words that Marus hears in his ears. He is in disbelief. The order seems wrong. As if Beryl is unaware of the peculiarity of what is before him. He knows that he hasn’t imagined it. However, he also is fully aware that while he has questions he isn’t going to get any answers, which is why he doesn’t bother to question the order in the first place. Still, his pause is long enough to result in Beryl querying, “Is there an issue with the link that prevented you from receiving your updated instructions?”

“Negative. Order understood.” Marus replies succinctly. He turns right feeling the urge to do a double take but resists due to the camera access Beryl has. The lens is sat alongside the headlamp. Were it anywhere else he might be inclined to take a second glance as he strides to the open hatch that links the cargo section to the rest of the vessel. On his approach he pulls his sidearm, though makes sure to keep it out of sight of the camera. Beryl will query why he has pulled his weapon and to be truthful he wouldn’t have an answer if she did. That is other than because it just feels right to do so after seeing an entire area of the cargo bay that should have been the remainder of shelving racks instead occupied by the pipes and conduits that would normally be hidden behind the bulkheads and interior lining. Marus has got to admit that he has never seen anything like it. He doubts anyone else has either. It shouldn’t be possible without significant damage to the Frenzy and yet it was obvious that there was no damage whatsoever. Rather, it looked like that zone had been turned inside out, flipped. It’s the only way he can describe it. Not that it seems right or offers any more understanding as to how it occurred.

With such thoughts discarded Marus pushes forward down the short corridor toward a ladder that will, according to the schematic Beryl is now projecting onto his HUD, put him on the main deck once scaled. From there the Janus Order soldier will be able to access the bridge, engineering, and the crew section. Beryl has already relayed that his order is to check engineering first. He can’t say he agrees as there is still a slim chance the crew might be aboard. After all, the vessel would require a crew if it is to end up in the middle of empty space, wouldn’t it? Of course it would. Marus knows that, Beryl does too, probably, and so will whoever is relaying their orders through the dumb AI. That means that sooner or later he’ll find them. If this were a larger vessel then there might have been a possibility of escape pods. However, the Frenzy hasn’t got such luxuries he recalls just as he reaches the base of the ladder only to look up the passage. The hatchway above him, unable to be sealed due to the presence of the ladder, is wrong. That is his first impression. Sure, it’s there; present and he’ll definitely be able to slither through it. The opening isn’t square as it should be however. Rather, the square shape is twisted, not quite into a diamond from the angle he is at and that gives him reason to pause. He considers saying something to Beryl, or whoever is dictating to him through her, only to swiftly conclude it’s pointless. They either know what is going on here or are not fazed by it. Marus isn’t sure which he finds more concerning but grabs a hold of one of the low rungs that is at roughly chest height all the same.

“Archives inform that the Pillar of Frenzy has gone through a number of significant refits that may result in the detailed schematics I have provided you being out of date.” Beryl announces as Marus mounts the ladder ready to climb. He’s wary of the sudden helpful nature of the automate. Especially, as no refit would explain the change in the cargo bay or the reorientation of the ladder hatch above him.

The next thought that shoots into Marus’ head comes when he takes his second step up the ladder, which is that he hopes whatever caused this warping, as he is inclined to determine it, does not occur while he is present. Before or after is fine, just not during. The prospect worries him more than he thinks it should and yet he feels no increase in his pulse. My training is serving me well, he thinks as he reaches and then begins to pass through the twisted opening. It’s harder to navigate than he had considered when on the deck below. It even requires him to shift and bend his body in a couple of directions before his wide armoured shoulders are able to slip through. Once they are however the rest of the wriggle, as he feels compelled to determine it, is achieved with relative ease, leaving him with the last half metre of ladder to scale.

No further hindrances throttle the soldier who completes his ascent some forty seconds later, pleased to have his feet back on firm ground.

The space around him, a room the size of a closet really, is uncomfortably cramped and would be regardless of the presence of the Tera-3 armour he is clad in or not. To his left and right are doors. They are shuttered, but clearly are not pressure doors. That means whatever is beyond them still has no chance of being capable of sustaining life. Marus feels an immediate pang of disappointment at the realisation and then hears something. It isn’t Beryl or the skittering he heard before. No this time it sounds like a voice. Distant, tired, low and quiet. Marus’ eyes narrow. He gulps, silently. Not out of fear but something else. He can’t quite place his finger on what. Perhaps it is anticipation. No, that doesn’t quite seem right to him, so he disregards it unlike his focus on the voice which remains resolute. He feels he must encase the voice returns. However, much like the skittering in the cargo hold previously, it does not return. He finds that unnerving. Beryl meanwhile passes no comment. He would have expected her to. After all, he must have paused for longer than she, and whoever is issuing her with orders to relay to him, would like.

“Engineering is through the door to your right.” Beryl informs breaking the silence that has hung in the air for what feels like an age. It’s the kind of announcement Marus had expected would come at some time, though it did not come in the form that he’d imagined, which is informative and helpful. He thinks it might be the first time she has truly been that. Nevertheless, he moves passed such considerations with his sidearm once again drawn. He’d been forced to stow it while conquering the ladder.

Two steps put Marus at the door which apparently will lead him to engineering. The doors, usually proximity sensing, offer no response. It’s what he expected and why he quickly grabs a hold of a section of wall panelling that is shaped around the recess into which the door is set. A couple seconds later the panel is pried free exposing the manual release lever below. It is identical, expect miniaturised to maybe half the size, of the one that had been on the outside of the Frenzy that controlled the cargo shutter.

“Impressive.” Beryl compliments before querying, “Prior experience of this class of vessel?”

“None at all, just a hunch based off how I got into this beasts belly.” Marus replies giving little thought to the compliment paid to him. It’s insincere. It always is when it comes from a command enabled automate, even if it doesn’t sound it. They don’t know the meaning of compliments unlike true AI’s. Right now Marus wishes he was conversing with one, a true AI. He might be, just not directly, and that, in his eyes, is the problem.

Still, he doubts a true AI would go through the rigmarole of relaying through an automate. That is very much a human way of operating. AI don’t care if their intentions are capable of being analysed by others. After all, they can access and alter any and all data collection and then twist it to read whatever they wish. By comparison humans, no matter how high and mighty their position in the hierarchy might be, cannot. Well, they can but it will always lead back to them. Digital fingerprints they’re called and no human can avoid them. In many ways they are no different to literal fingerprints, except unlike literal ones which can be mimicked or shared between identical siblings, digital versions cannot. They truly are unique, which is why Marus can only imagine this automate is relaying to another of his own kind. Doing so gives them plausible deniability. Especially, when they can terminate and wipe the dumb AI via a blank root command that isn’t theoretically issued by an organic lifeform and so leaves no digital fingerprint. It’s a hell of a loophole, but Marus fully understands why Janus Order command has never plugged it. Why would they? It gives them the anonymity they might require for less than legal clandestine operations. Marus has been on a few. Not officially of course. His record makes no mention of them. But until the day they work out how to wipe sections of human memory he’ll know they existed and recall every detail about them intimately. He is well aware that command has a disdain for that particular technology never having reached fruition. It sure would come in handy for them to be able to eliminate all risks of their ever being a leak or breach.

With the lever ratcheted down as far as it will go a piston release sound can be heard. If not for the auditory systems in the Tera-3 it wouldn’t be. In fact, nothing would. The vacuum of space kills all sounds. Not entirely but sufficiently enough that they would be barely perceivable. Marus remembers having to operate in such conditions once. It had been more than a little jarring to be under fire and not having the ability to hear. Right then he shakes himself free of his thoughts and returns to the present now that the twin doors before him are several inches apart. The soldier can see nothing through the gap other than that there is a space beyond it. That is nothing he didn’t already know but it is essentially what he expected.

Sadly, the doors open no further. Marus sighs and then chuckles, once, to himself as he bites on the inside of his cheek again. It’ll cause an ulcer if he isn’t careful and yet he isn’t bothered by the prospect.

With the doors evidently unwilling to go any further, for whatever reason, under their own steam Marus lifts his left arm and grabs the edge of the left parted door of the set. He’s already concluded that if he can wrench it back then it will leave him with just enough space for him to squeeze, sideways, through.

“Is this wise? The doors could suffer a malfunction and…” Beryl begins only for Marus, frustrated, to cut her, it, he isn’t sure which, off by stating, “Power is down. The manual release pistons are jammed. I’m not about to wait around hoping a miracle will occur and that this tin can is going to spontaneously re-power itself to cycle the doors open, or closed, for me.”

While Beryl considers in silence his words. More likely relaying them to whoever, Marus wastes no time in forcing, with a decent helping of resistance offered, the door open wider. Crunching, chugging, whining noises sputter into the otherwise dead air around the Janus Order soldier who would have an easier time if only he were willing to stow his sidearm and use both hands to accomplish his goal. That isn’t happening. Marus has already decided that and unless ordered otherwise this is how the obstacle is going to be conquered.

When Beryl does speak again it comes just as Marus reaches the culmination of his efforts and finishes wrenching the disabled door back into its recess. The sounds have been grating and continue to send ripples of discomfort up Marus’ spine. He ignores them. He’s well aware as to why they have occurred. The sound has long been rooted in his memory and that is because it is the sound of metal on metal. It’s a noise that you quickly become accustomed to, though never comfortable with, when you’re encased in a suit made of it. Alright, to be accurate when you are encased in a composite alloy formed from it and a number of other materials. Marus doesn’t know the exact composition and doesn’t need to. Such things are for spies and traitors, if they still exist. Janus Order command regularly likes to remind everyone that they do, but Marus is sceptical. Wars aren’t fought between the Janus Order and other parties anymore. It is the other parties that fight one amongst themselves, and Marus doesn’t blame them for that. Rather, he fully understands why no one would want to pick a fight with a multi system spanning military force with some forty thousand plus starships, ninety million personnel and enough munitions to destroy half of known space.

“Point noted and accepted.”

Definitely relaying through a third party, Marus thinks without a word. The thought comes in the moments prior to him releasing his grip on the now permanently damaged door, which he turns side on to and then squeezes through. The breast and rear plates of his Tera-3 scrape noisily across the wrenched back door behind him, as well as across the disabled right door, the edge of which is staring him in the face.

The sounds last only seconds, but continue to ring in his ears even after he is through. He surveys his achievement for a good moment prior to turning so that he can press ahead. He’s already wasted far more time than he feels is appropriate. Mostly his delays seem to stem from his handler. Principally when he’d had to wait as he was connected to Beryl, which wouldn’t have taken that long if it were only the dumb AI being connected to him. Command have tens of thousands of them active at all times, plus millions more ready for spin up encase of sudden demand increases from other soldiers in the field just like him. He realises that he is making it sound like a call centre and in many ways it is. Except for military grade operations with a highly and life sensitive component attached.

With his focus back on the mission Marus has to admit that the sight he is met with is not at all what he expected. In fact, it’s not the sight that anyone would expect. He double checks the schematic which accordingly informs that this should be the crew section comprised of a living space and personal quarters. Instead, he finds himself in a hangar bay.

“Signal seems to be mixed. I am getting an output of a hangar bay.” Beryl utters sounding the dumb AI version of flabbergasted.

“No. Feed isn’t mixed. It’s true. I too am looking at a hangar bay.” Marus relays as he scans about with the lamp affixed to his helmet. His first note is that there are three dropships occupying the vast space. Two are sat upon the deck, which can’t be the deck of the Frenzy, while the third is suspended from an overhead mounted crane. It’s the type that is almost exclusively used for underbelly maintenance. After all, long gone are the days when any kind of spacefaring vessel, even a dropship, would be stored in such a position during transit.

What other peculiarities might be frequenting the bay Marus hasn’t a clue. His lamp is too limited for him to have any hope of discerning much more than he has, though he does think he sees a number of tools, hundreds perhaps, suspended in mid-air. Not out of the ordinary at all for a decompressed vessel. Yet, where is here? It certainly can’t be the Frenzy. That particular type of craft is devoid of any kind of hangar bay.

Marus expects if he dared to look over his shoulder he would still undoubtedly find that he is stood on the journeyman class Frenzy. That unnerves, confuses and fascinates him as he waits for a reply.

Thirty seconds pass without a word being exchanged. In that time Marus can feels his impatience growing, but refuses to be the one to break the stalemate. There isn’t one, though that is what he is inclined to call it.

All of a sudden there is a shadow that flickers past him. He is drawn to it immediately following a start. His heart rate spikes. He can feel it do so and all while his eyes probe at the empty air beyond the limit of the light cast by the lamps on his Tera-3 armour.

There is no further movement and yet he is without doubt that he saw something travel, at speed. Fear creeps up his spine, chilling him as it goes. He has to resist the urge to raise and level his sidearm. He knows for a fact that if he does it will only result in queries that will make him sound insane. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer for Beryl to speak once more.

“You’re heart rate is elevated and you are showing signs of fear and panic. Why is that?” Those are not the words Marus had been expecting. They catch him off-guard, resulting in a series of short erm sounds that pass his lips prior to him ultimately conquering his stumble to advise, “It’s nothing.”

The soldier hopes Beryl will drop it, she doesn’t.

“If we are to get through this operation you must be truthful with me.” The tone is professorial Marus thinks. For what reason he concludes such he isn’t sure. However, it in no way inclines him to reconsider his previous utterance and explain the truth as to why his heart rate has spiked, which he didn’t know could be tracked.

“Where did this hangar come from?” The soldier asks in query. His hope being that if he changes the subject then perhaps the topic will be forgotten.

“Unknown.” Beryl replies much to Marus’ relief, seeing as it looks like he’s successfully changed the topic of their conversation.

Still, the admittance by the automate does quite the opposite. Marus feels no increase in the thumps of his heart to coincide and marks that as positive. Nevertheless he finds it a tad concerning that Beryl is capable, via the Tera-3, of monitoring his bio signs. He didn’t know that was a capability of this suit, likely by design. Why keep it a secret Marus cannot grasp however. It seems pointless when you factor in that all Janus Order operatives are trained to monitor and maintain their own metrics such as heart rate, energy levels and even blood sugar. Marus finds that last one the hardest to accurately track. Though, he has yet to get a black mark against his name on a physical so he can’t be doing too badly.

“Orders stand?” Marus questions while maintaining much of his focus on his surroundings encase there is another fleeting shadow.

“Affirmative.” Is Beryl’s automatic and instantaneous response, just as Marus had expected. In fact, it was so predictable that he has already plotted a route down. It’s a good distance from what he can tell at this angle. He doubts what he has planned will be ‘acceptable’ to Beryl and yet with her inability to give him any meaningful answers or input he doesn’t rightly care. He’ll do what’s best for him. That feels out of character for him though. Such a thought is fleeting and replaced quickly by action. The action comes in the form of him putting one magnetised boot in front of the other until he is at the very edge of what could be termed a precipice. Without pause he steps, one foot, off and over the edge. He falls forwards, or more accurately forces himself to. Without gravity or atmosphere he wouldn’t otherwise. Sure he could, theoretically, drift across the space. Yet, to do so struck him as pointless. Especially, as there is no guarantee his momentum would be sufficient to reach the other side of… And that leads him to his second point. He doesn’t know where he’s heading to. He can’t see the far side of the hangar. At least he doesn’t believe he can and so this is why he has chosen the option he has. With the explanation straight in his own mind, his previously airbourne boot thumps to the vertical stretch of bulkhead. Marus releases his back foot only to apply it to the same expanse of flat metal a step further ahead of him on what had been a vertical drop, according to his orientation, previously.

“You determine this, the most appropriate course of action?” Beryl queries clearly not convinced. Just as Marus had expected it, she, would.

“I do.” The soldier replies curtly. His eyes dropping down to double check the plating under his boots. The camera on his helmet catches the sidearm in his right hand at that moment.

“Is the presence of your weapon necessary?” Beryl asks less directly than the soldier would have anticipated.

Still, Marus thinks he gets some static as the automate speaks. However, as soon as he thinks that he doesn’t quite remember at what point it occurred. His brow furrows in response. Strangely, he doesn’t feel confident to say whether his expression is the result of the static he thought he caught or the query from the automate. That too seems out of place for me, he thinks a second before Beryl advises, “Life signs are spiking.” The voice sounds panicked; alarmed he might even go as far to say. Her declaration makes not a lick of sense. He knows his own rate and it hasn’t spiked at all. It’s calm, even. Then a burst of static fills his ears. Marus screeches and winces in pain. His screech lost to the wall of the static.

It ends suddenly, only to be replaced by words, interspersed between dull hums. Marus can’t decipher them. They’re too quiet and so barks, “Beryl, Beryl I can’t hear what you’re saying. Repeat.”

To him it can be only the voice of the automate. Then out of nowhere and before he can speak again, or get any kind of meaningful reply, a series of swift shadows whip past him. Marus reacts to each in the same manner and without delay and that is to follow them. His head twists swiftly one way and then the other as he attempts to track. His attempts bear no fruit, they’re already gone. And now is when he feels his heart rate burst past what he would determine as normal. Static still fills his ears. He wishes it would end but it shows no sign of doing so as he raises his arm and steadies the sidearm with his left hand. The academy taught him this is the best way to fire any weapon, using both hands. He’s never been inclined to argue. Especially, after that one time he snapped his wrist and had been forced to shoot a heavy repeater with only one good hand. The kick on that monster alone had nearly snapped his left arm. He can’t recall as to how he’d suffered the break on his right wrist he realises now. He just remembers that it happened in the heat of battle. In truth it could have been the result of many things, which is why he isn’t obsessed with his lack of recall as to the cause.

“Come…”

“Read…”

“Fester…”

“Weap…”

The voices emerge out of the blue and stab at the air. With the static gone they are clear but once they are over Marus is left with nothing but the sound of his own laboured breathes.

“Who’s there?” Marus demands to know. He gets no answer but on this occasion does feel a presence other than his own. That freaks him out and so he turns. He finds nothing. There is no one, of any form or kind, present. He is alone.

However, there is a difference. The tools that had been low and drifting aimlessly are now all around him. He’s confused as to how and why and so spins about on the spot. His sidearm still raised as he goes. He doesn’t feel confident it’ll be enough. Though, right now he is in no way inclined to stow it and pull his burst rifle. That would leave him disarmed. It might only be for the briefest of moments, but after being an operative for so long Marus is well aware that it is at those briefest of moments when you let your guard down or leave yourself open that the most horrific of events tend to transpire. He isn’t about to opening himself up to such a possibility. Not here in this strange ship which cannot be the place he started, even though he hasn’t set foot off of it.

“Come in…Can you read me?” Beryl’s voice cuts in, seemingly out of nowhere. A second ago his comms link, the IBLS, had been down, but now it’s alive again. It doesn’t work like that. Even Marus’ limited understanding is enough for him to know that, which is why he is wary of the voice. On top of that it sounds a little wrong to his ears. It could be the static but Beryl sounds softer. Automates can’t do that. Maybe it isn’t her, it, whatever. Then who…

“Do you read…? Please respond…” The voice is entirely different now. There are no hints of Beryl at all in the words spoken. Plus, Marus doesn’t recognise the voice and he’s good with voices. Most operatives tend to be. So he doesn’t answer.

Something is definitely going on here that is not been made aware of, and whoever this voice belongs to isn’t with him. Thankfully, its presence has put pay to any consideration he’d had previously in regards to the swift spitting voices that had stabbed out from the silence prior to this. So much so that Marus has forgotten all about them. Still, without a way to end the link, which he has tried now five times to manually terminate without success, Marus is forced to ignore the voice and simply resume his forward progress. He keeps his sidearm raised and levelled. Again he considers swapping it for his burst rifle only to discard the notion. He knows his denial is based in fear, but something really isn’t right. As if on cue he takes note of the view before him. No longer is it the interior of the hangar. Rather, it is faced with a section of partially present cannon batteries. They look old, too old, and much like the hangar they would and could never have be a part of the Frenzy. Another chill shudders across Marus’ back. He can resist no longer the urge he feels now that he is faced with a brand new and equally confounding sight, so he takes a half step back and cranes his head back as far as it’ll go. ‘Above’ him, but according working off the orientation of how he entered this room across, is still the hangar. Marus thought he might have imagined the change. He hasn’t and when he drops his head and gaze back to the section of an old cannon battery it becomes irrefutable that this ship, whatever ship it is he is on, is a twisted and conjoined mess.

At that moment a burst of static roars in his ears so loud that he feels compelled to turn away from the battery section as if it is the cause. It isn’t. However, as soon as he has turned Marus catches sight of more fleeting shadows. He watches them this time, instead of fearing their presence. They make no attempt to close the gap to him. In fact, if anything they seem oblivious to his presence. The soldier cannot categorise them as they possess nothing he would call discernible characteristics. They are simply masses lasting mere seconds before vanishing even while still in the beams of his armours lamps. As soon as they fizzle out they are replaced. Marus doesn’t understand. He feels he should ask, but what is he asking? He doesn’t know. Not because he does not have the question formed in his mind. He simply doesn’t know to what, or whom, he should be issuing his query.

He realises then that the static burst he thought might rupture his eardrums is gone. The silence is deafening. He hates it. It sends a tingle across his back. It’s as if something with many tiny pointed legs is creeping sideways like a crab across his flesh. He resists, barely, the urge to shiver. However, he does a quick diagnostic on his suit. It informs him that there are no irregularities. It’s what he expected. Not that the confirmation offers him a lick of ease to lessen the eerie feeling that is swelling around in his gut. The one which is frantically suggesting that something is very wrong and that he needs to get out of here. He doesn’t. He can’t. Not because of the mission, but because… He doesn’t have an answer.

The fleeting shapes are gone, as are the sounds that had sprung forth through his helmets auditory systems. He sighs in relief and forces himself back into motion along the wall instead of down it, like he had been doing before.

The soldier sets his boots onto the deck of the hangar with the corner comprised of a cannon battery a few minutes later. It followed a quick mental recalculation to ensure it was the best and quickest route that would lead him here. In that time he’s seen and heard nothing else. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. There is plenty for him to see and a few things, all of which are from him, to hear.

His pulse has eased. That’s one positive Marus has to admit. Sadly his attempts to re-establish an IBLS have been unsuccessful. He doesn’t get static now. The line just seems to be dead. He can’t even patch through to The Renegade. Long distance failures are possible, but local ones, not so much. Save for if The Renegade had been destroyed. He hasn’t heard any booms that would indicate such and he definitely should have if that had happened. Plus, with the vessels in such close proximity he’d have definitely felt it. Would I? Then explain why I’m in a journeyman class ship that has a hangar bay and a section of an old cannon battery. He can’t he has to admit to himself and so forges ahead still, theoretically, heading for the engineering section.