Kevin Stark, Crew Chief of Weapons on the Glanton Holden had been awake and under the sway of the Grey Beast for seventy-three hours when the Simnus finally appeared on his radar. He wasn’t aware of this of course, the Grey Thing held him completely in thrall for the duration, but his physical self had been screaming for relief. He’d been dozing in his quarters, finally easing himself into the comfort of a mind and body at rest, when Lt. Augustus Brendt hailed him on the ship‘s circuit. The Grey Thing had been in command of the Glanton for the better part of three days, but he’d allowed his remaining crew to pilot their own minds when they were not being used directly. If he wasn‘t doing what the beast commanded, then Lt. Brendt was still the captain of the Glanton, and Stark meant to honor that while he still could. Whatever it was they were seeking out here, he felt the end was coming soon. After bearing witness to the awful fate of his fellow crew under the influence of the unholy passenger, Kevin Stark knew what awaited him when things had run their course. “Maybe,” he hoped in the distant backwaters of his mind, “maybe if we do what he wants he’ll make it painless."
He dressed quickly, nearly forgetting strapping his sidearm on his hip and his cover on his head in his fevered excitement. He made the bridge to find Capt. Brendt and the remaining six officers comprising the Glanton’s full (and very depleted) compliment.
I was here less than an hour ago. I didn’t see…I was…
He fumbled for the words. The Grey Thing had been driving and controlling him for so long, he was finding it difficult to sustain even the simplest conversational exchanges. Capt. Brendt sympathized in silence, motioned to the forward screens and led Stark over. Somewhere up in the waves through the bridge and across almost a mile of darkened twilight sea, the Simnus was waiting.
He, uh, it, told us what to do a few days ago. I can’t…
A tear rolled down Starks face. The Captain stopped then, waiting on an answer to a question he hadn’t asked. Stark had begun to cry in earnest when the captain said:
We’ve found her.
He almost smiled when he said it, but Kevin Stark saw the tears welling in his captains eyes as well. He and Brendt had known each other since they were navy brats together, enjoying the uncertain thrill of popping from base to base in Europe and the States in Uncle Sam’s post-Vietnam Armed Service. They’d gotten in fights in Prague, bought hookers together for the first time in Kyoto, and generally raised hell from Quonset Point to San Diego as they groomed for the great battles they’d both undoubtedly be fighting one day. Brendt had graduated West Point a year before Stark, Stark had been the best man at Brendt’s wedding, and his second wedding. The end of the hunt for the Simnus would probably mean the end of both of them.
***
The Simnus, brand fucking new and the most dangerous ship in the ocean by a good bit. Basically a redesign of a Tomahawk missile submarine that enabled the deployment of tactical weapons (in addition to nuclear) and high speed pursuit. Where its progenitors were basically in the business of hiding for months and launching Nuclear holocaust if the cold war Russians were ever of a mind to do the same, The Simnus mission - post-cold war - had evolved.
The Simnus added a hundred-thirty meters to the Tomahawk’s hundred. She’d lost her forward missile compartments, which in the original design had been packed with enough apocalypse-fuel to destroy the earth many times over. In the place of the massive nuclear arsenal there was now a vast array of strategic high explosives and missiles. The Simnus could dive as deep as the ocean got, but would have no trouble crouching low in shallow tributaries where she could deploy a massive store of anti-aircaft, ship, and infantry weapons. She’d hundreds of “Daisy Cutter” missiles in her forward payload, each capable of laying waste to thousands of tons of earth and rock. She could bring remote-controlled drones to bear, launching ten and twenty bird sorties with pre-programmed and remote-programmed mission memory. To her aft, and running all along the sides, the Simnus had new HE drone-missile tubes. Each one could loose a hundred “Pitchfork” rockets, each was capable of cutting a destroyer class battleship in two, and each could be fired underwater and also into the air. Each was rigged with a set of servos and sensor packages that allowed the user to take full control of each using a small joystick and screen-radar just on the weapons array. An army of amphibious death controlled to the centimeter by computers and human interaction.
***
Instead of killing them, the Grey Thing had allowed them to sleep. For twelve precious hours Kevin Stark lay in his rack and slumbered without disturbance save from by the most awesome dream-visuals and dream-actions. The reveries came so close on the heels of one another that it was hard to keep up. He felt himself launched out of the sea like a missile and screaming for the shores of the East Coast in search of soft targets. The wind whistled through the superstructure and he felt the fuel in his heart drain as the afterburners punched him toward a fiery end. Then he looked to the left and right and saw massive wings sprouted like time-lapse vines one hundred meters on both sides. No rocket now, just a massive, terrible flying creature from the swamps of pre-history itself. He flapped the giant arm-wings and roared a great roar. He saw fire spring from his mouth like a thousand bombs had touched off in his throat. A dragon then! A dragon formed from the entirety of humanity and sent to fight, to defend, to crush and burn under urgent, gigantic wings. He dove then, aiming for a twin peak far below him and shrouded in fog. The wings dissolved then and he was falling, folding and enwrapping himself within himself to brace for the shock when he hit between the giant spires.
There was no impact though, and he felt himself falling through between thee giant stone edifice. He fell and fell and fell. Through dark and light and heat and cold. A thousand miles and a thousand more he was falling inside a dream-tunnel through the very center of the earth itself. Despite the speed he made out shapes and forms going past. Warriors on the march, giant lizards stalking prey while the land shook and smoked. There was noise also, screams, yells of pain, orgasmic shouts and moans, and the cries of the dead rotting in the ground, afraid of fate and what might happen next. He fell through it and bore witness to all of it. Somehow able to make sense of what he was feeling and seeing even as he plummeted towards….
Before he could answer it was darkness around him. He had been falling in the black, but now he felt ground beneath him. Was he once again a man. Had he been delivered from the ships and the sea? What was to become of him? A meaner thought overtook him then, “what if he’s done away with me as I slept and this is my hell?” He tried to discern shapes in the dark but he could make nothing. Terror then, sour and heavy, gripped him and pressed down. He found the tears coming again. He was spinning and trying to see, dizzy and looking for any light at all.
***
The Grey Beast boarded the Simnus and took the crew in much the same way as the Glanton. The Simnus crew, however, went to their destiny in even more pain and horror than the forty-three who perished on the Glanton. Kevin Stark woke from his rest under the full sway of the Grey Beast. He dressed and made for the Glanton’s bridge.
Once there he realized two things: The first was that the boat was at the surface. He saw light beaming in from a row of tiny windows surrounding the conning tower. The beams were like lasers focused on a single point amidships and the rest of the Glanton’s crew was also gazing up. Stark heard a familiar noise below him, and saw the Captain make for the hatch that lead to the first deck. The monster was taking them outside. Stark followed the Captain and was dazzled upon making the deck. Of the Simnus there was no sign, but her entire crew - a compliment of fifty-three hands and officers was here, on the Glanton’s deck, with him. Facing him as a matter of fact, standing about five yards away toeing an imaginary line. They looked scared and tired and none of them said a word. Kevin looked at the Captain standing next to him and was about to speak when he saw his friend move. Captain Brendt was checking his Glock sidearm, and before Kevin could think he found himself doing the same thing. He raised his weapon, racked the slide and pointed it forward, sighting the second ensign of the Simnus at point blank. Stark had started to say the words “I’m sorry,” when the shooting began. By the time it was over, he found himself - once again - having avoided the slaughter. This time though, there was only himself left, along with Captain Brendt. The crew of the Simnus, along with his remaining compliment from the Glanton Holden, lay at their feet, twitching and bleeding, their brains leaking out onto the first deck and steaming in the noon sunlight. The Beast made them kick the bodies into the ocean, and they watched as the beast consumed them. He was fast, and by the time the sharks got to the scene a few minutes later there was nothing left for them. After a fashion, he and Brendt were forced to go back inside and the Glanton dove again. This time, Stark suspected, for the final time.
The Grey Thing summoned him - yet again - just as he was loosing himself to the will of his own natural, circadian cycles. The Beast had summoned him to the bridge, and he had him practically running to get there. Somewhere in the underpinnings of his unconscious self, Stark wondered if the Thing had finally decided to favor him and end his troubles once and for all. The thought gave him a melancholy kind of hope and he found himself smiling on the inside when he reached the bridge.
***
You’re friend is dead.
Brendt spoke from behind his desk in the corner of his captains quarters. He was a sub captain, so the room was small, and not befitting of the man’s high rank, but Stark had never heard him complain. Brendt was a sailor, and sailors spend most of their time at the con.
I know. All our friends are dead. The bastard thing made me murder’em. I recognized all those men. I can’t bear to…
Brendt cut him off:
No. Your friend. Captain Brendt. He’s killed and done. There is only us now Mr. Stark. Only us. I have some questions for you, but I understand that the answers I seek will not be volunteered. I propose a bargain. Questions for questions.
“I don’t understand. What is it you want.”
That is none of your concern Mr. Stark, and it is also a tale far too long for the limited time we’re afforded now. Suffice to say, that what I want is very close, and will be gained within a matter of hours. Your role in this is strictly in an assistants capacity.
What in fuck are you?
His friend, or - more correctly - the thing that was wearing his friend threw his head back and laughed a great laugh for what seemed like hours. He seemed honestly amused.
Forgive me Stark, I’m always amazed by the boldness of humans. Here I’ve destroyed everything you hold close. I’m surely about to kill you and I’ve already stolen your ships, yet you demand things as if it were you sitting where I am sitting. Such pride. It’s no wonder your race has failed.
Stark looked down, and neither man said anything for a long while. It was the Beast that eventually broke the silence.
Well then Mr. Stark if that’s all then…
OK. Wait. Maybe I do have questions…
By the time they were finished talking it was late at night. Kevin Stark was depleted and tired beyond tired. He asked a final question:
Why not just wear me like you wear Brendt? It seems you’d be able to grab the information at will and you’d be off to the races.
The thing inside his old buddy just grinned.
Ah ha! You would think. You would think. I’m sill learning the things I can and cannot do to you people, but I’m quite sure that the contents of a persons mind cannot be made available to one such as me. I can force most beings to do my bidding, but extracting a tiny piece of information hidden in the vastness of somebody’s mind is a bridge to far. Maybe after a few hundred more years, no?
Stark said nothing.
***
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