Squirm

Posted on Jan 20, 2016 @ 1:52am by Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Jan 20, 2016 @ 1:52am

Mission: Promethean

= Squirm =

(cont’d from “Five Little Indians”)

LOCATION: LAVENZA II Facility

SCENE: Turbolift Shaft

STARDATE: [2.16] 01192016.2235

=[/\]=

Give me good digestion, Lord

And also something to digest.

- Mary Webb

=[/\]=

The crew of the Annabelle’s Lament - Trixie first, then Goldstadt, Crichton. Brass, and Evaer - moved slowly down the column of metal rungs positioned at the wall of the shaft. Down and down they climbed, further and further into the waiting darkness beneath them. They had planned to stop at the first turbolift door and exit the shaft, but they’d passed no such doors during their downward trek. Their hands were starting to get tired, and they were getting winded from the exertion.

At the beginning of their climb, there had been banter, along with exultant whoops in anticipation of their glorious defeat of the Federation stooges. Eventually, these had lapsed into pointless speculation about the depth of this shaft. Now, the crew climbed in silence, except for steady pants of breath each took as they went on. Even Brass had quieted down, for a wonder; the Ferengi kept glancing down between his feet and trying not to think about how sweaty his hands were getting.

“This is stupid,” Goldstadt said, coming to a stop and hooking an arm through one of the metal rungs to study himself. “We must be ten miles deep..”

“Do that math again, peanut,” Crichton said from above him. “We’re moving at, what, maybe 2 miles per hour? We’ve been climbing less than 30 minutes.”

“Whatever,” Goldstadt said, squinting up at him in the gloom of the turbolift shaft. “Point is, this shaft doesn’t stop. We’re gonna climb down into the core at this rate.”

“Yeah, a turbolift shaft to the planet core,” Crichton snorted. He matched Goldstadt’s example and hooked an arm around a rung, then used his free hand to adjust the position of his eyepatch.

“Shut up and keep moving,” Evaer said from above them. “Save your breath for climbing, Goldstadt. You can complain when you’re rich.”

“Stupid fuckin’ thing,” Goldstadt muttered, but he obeyed. Trixie hadn’t stopped, and had gained some distance. Goldstadt turned to look down at her. The light in the tunnel wasn’t very good, but he could see her, perhaps 15 feet below. She seemed to have stopped, one arm twined through the metal rungs, while the other was feeling for something Goldstadt couldn’t see.

“What are you doing, girl?” Goldstadt called down to her. “You find a way out?”

“I think it’s an override control,” Trixie said, her voice echoing up the shaft. “I don’t see any doors.”

“Flip it,” Crichton called down.

“But there’s nothing for it to open-”

“Flip it,” Crichton repeated. “Switches are for flipping. You’ll like it, it will be fun.”

Below him, Trixie shrugged, and leaned out grab the override control. She pulled, and the switch fell with a loud metallic *chunk!* sound, and suddenly a portion of the wall to Trixie’s right slide aside with a gentle hiss. Trixie grinned savagely, then looked up.

“Maintenance access,” she said. “We should be getting close to the lower level of the facility.”

“Good,” Goldstadt said, climbing a little faster. “Sick of this damn tunnel.”

Trixie carefully climbed into the maintenance tunnel. She had to crawl on her hands and knees, which wasn’t exactly easy with her dress. She moved a little way into the tube, then stopped, leaning up against the wall to wait for the rest of her crew. She could hear Goldstadt, still muttering to himself as he neared, and more faintly she could hear the sounds of the others’ boots on the metal rungs as they closed the distance towards her.

She thought she smelled something, some faraway odor that was nonetheless unpleasant. It was a chemical smell, sharp and dangerous, but faint enough that she couldn’t identify it. Then Goldstadt was lowering himself into the tube behind her, and his own considerable stink drove away whatever trace of the chemical smell, and so Trixie decided she’d only imagined it.

“You still gonna go first?” Goldstadt asked, his face splitting into yellow-toothed grin. His fat, pink slug of a tongue ran out over cracked lips as he watched her. Trixie realized he was thinking about her dress, and more specifically, the view it would afford him if she continued to blaze the trail. Trixie scowled; Goldstadt made her skin crawl, and being this close to him in the confined space of the tunnel was not improving her opinion of him one bit.

“Not even in your dreams,” Trixie said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You can go first.”

Goldstadt ran his eyes over her once more before climbing past her. The tunnel was just wide enough for him to slide past Trixie, though she thought that Goldstadt was brushing up against her more than was necessary, even given the cramped conditions. Behind them, Crichton began to shimmy into the tube. Goldstadt continued through the tube, rounding a bend and disappearing from sight while Trixie turned back to Crichton.

“You have any idea where we are?” Trixie asked, frowning at the one-eyed engineer.

“Nope,” Crichton said, shaking his head as he crawled towards her on hands and knees. “We’re out of that turbolift shaft, which is all I give a shit about for the moment.”

“We need to find the control deck,” Trixie said. “That’s where Cassidy will be.”

“And the data,” Crichton reminded her.

“That too.”

Behind them, Brass had climbed into the tube. He glared at Crichton, flashing a mouthful of snaggle teeth at him. “You are in my way, hoo-man,” the Ferengi growled. Crichton rolled his remaining eye and climbed past Trixie, muttering to himself as he went.

Brass stopped to stare long enough that Trixie could see he was entertaining a train of thought very similar to Goldstadt’s. She frowned at him and hooked a thumb in the direction that Crichton and Goldstadt had gone. “Keep moving,” she said. Brass gave her a toothy grin, but he kept moving.

Evaer came last, pausing at the lip of the tunnel to catch his breath before hoisting himself into the maintenance tube. Trixie helped pull him in all the way. Evaer nodded a thank you, then began to rub at each of his wrists in turn. Then Evaer realized that Trixie was watching him closely, and he stopped abruptly.

“You’re tired,” Trixie purred.

“I’ll be fine,” Evaer said sharply. “Get moving.”

“I don’t want you to look up my dress,” Trixie said, her lower lip poking out in a mock pout.

“Just do it, Trixie,” Evaer sighed. Trixie watched him without moving for another moment, then slowly smiled and turned to crawl up the tube. Evaer followed, doing his best not to look up her dress.

=[/\]=

Goldstadt rounded another bend in the maintenance access tunnel and then put his hand down into something wet. The former marine glanced down, squinting in the low light to see what it was. The bottom of the tube was suddenly coated in streaks of some warm, slightly sticky substance.

“Ah shit,” Goldstadt muttered. He turned to call back over his shoulder. “Crichton!”

Crichton didn’t reply. Goldstadt raised his hand, having to force it a little to get it unstuck from the goop he’d place it in, and brought it to his face to smell it. It had a sharp, unpleasant odor, like ammonia. Goldstadt realized the smell of it was starting to fill the tunnel. He shook the odor away, wiped his hand on his shirt as best he could, and turned to call back down the tunnel.

“Crichton! I think there’s some kind of chemical leak in here!”

Goldstadt had become aware of an unpleasant tingle on his palm, slight at first but slowly building in intensity, like the lingering heat from a burn but getting worse instead of better. He wiped his hand on his shirt again, trying to clear off as much of the muck as he could, while he did his best to climb backwards, away from the mysterious substance.

“What are you whining about?” came Crichton’s voice, somewhere in the tunnel behind him, Goldstadt turned to look - there was a bend in the tunnel and he couldn’t see the engineer yet. His hand was starting to really throb now, like someone had placed a red hot coal directly onto his palm. The sensation had started on his chest now, too, and Goldstadt looked down to see holes beginning to sizzle and spread on the material of his shirt. Underneath, the exposed skin was turning red under a tangle of chest hair.

“Ah shit,” Goldstadt cursed, waving his hand ineffectually in the air. “Shit, ah, fucking hell-”

Something dropped from the top of the tube onto Goldstadt’s cheek. For a split second, he felt something cool and wet, like someone had spattered gelatin onto his cheek. Then came the pain, quicker than before, and worse. Goldstadt’s eyes clenched shut as an unintelligible cry ripped its way out of his throat. He reached up with his good hand, clutched at the wet pulsing mass on his cheek, and pulled it free, hurling it up the tunnel and away from him. As it spiralled through the air, it caught the light just long enough for Goldstadt to see that it was some kind of slug, or leech - some boneless, wriggling thing, corpse-grey in color, and trailing a viscous membrane that stank of ammonia.

The pain had started in Goldstadt’s other hand now, but the pain in his cheek was far worse. It felt like someone had lashed a barbed whip into his cheek. He clutched at the pain, and the skin came free in his hand, a thick and bloody chunk of flesh that started to lose its shape even as Goldstadt watched. He realized the skin on his hands had started to run, too; he could see the tiny white tips of bone beginning to peek through the rapidly dissolving tissue. Goldstadt felt another cool, wet thing drop from the top of the tube to plop on the skin of his arm, and a second later came fresh pain. Goldstadt screamed again.

Crichton had rounded the bend now, his eyes wide. Goldstadt turned, and Crichton could see his teeth poking through a widening hole in Goldstadt’s cheek. The medic was clutching madly at something on his forearm, something that reminded Crichton of a wad of phlegm. Then Goldstadt hurled it against the wall of the tube, where it splatted loudly. On the arm where the thing had been, Crichton saw a lesion appear and widen, faster than he could believe, as a soupy mix of blood and dissolved flesh ran down Goldstadt’s arm.

“Holy shit,” Crichton murmured. Goldstadt was screaming, and clamboring on ruined hands up the tunnel, towards Crichton. Crichton retreated, nearly bumping into Brass.

“What is that screaming?” the Ferengi asked, but Crichton shoved at him.

“Move!” the engineer shouted. For an instant Brass looked offended, but then he spotted Goldstadt, and the color drained from the Ferengi pilot’s face.

“What in-” Brass started.

“Go!” Crichton screamed again. Now Brass was moving, Crichton clamboring behind him, and Goldstadt bringing up the rear, moving slowly on rapidly disappearing hands. His screams had turned into a thick desperate whimpering. Crichton risked a look back, to see Goldstadt suddenly twist violently, clutching at something on his back. His hand, now a ruined mess of exposed muscle and bone, came up clutching another one of those wriggling grey things and smashed it against the wall of the tube. Crichton could make out a half dozen tiny wriggling shapes, sliding up the walls of the tube much faster than he would have believed.

They were giving chase, Crichton realized. The slugs were actually *chasing* them.

Crichton scrambled faster. He couldn’t believe Goldstadt was managing to keep up, as the wounds continued to spread and the slugs continued their work, dropping on his from above, swarming over his legs and hands. Goldstadt’s wet whimpering seemed to fill the tunnel, thicker even than the stink of ammonia. Ahead of him, Brass was also moving as fast as he could, and Crichton could see that Trixie and Evaer, alerted by the sound of Goldstadt’s screams, had already fled the maintenance tube and climbed back out into the turbolift shaft. Evaer was leaning over to peer into the tunnel.

“What’s happening?” he called. “What’s going on?”

“Get out of my way!” Brass cried, not slowing down. He reached the lip of the tube, reached out to cling desperately at one of the metal rungs, and practically leapt out. Crichton was only a few feet behind him. Goldstadt still brought up the rear, round the last bend in the tunnel. Evaer could see his face a smear of gore, and there appeared to be several wriggling things crawling up his shoulder and over his back, seeming to split the fabric of his shirt as they went. That was all the Bolian needed to see; he pulled back from the tunnel and started to climb down, fast.

Crichton made it to the lip and climbed rapidly out. He looked back to see Goldstadt was only a small distance behind. One of the medic’s arms was extended to clutch desperately for Crichton, and Crichton could see three of the wriggling the climbing up the arm towards Goldstadt’s shoulder, puckering the skin with their passage. Two more and landed in the medic’s hair and started to glide gently down his forehead. Goldstadt’s eyes were wide, and aware, and staring at him.

“Shit,” Crichton shivered, and he reached out towards the access switch. Goldstadt saw what he was doing, and began to bleat like an injured calf.

“Wait no oh god no please god don’t leave me-”

Crichton yanked the switch, and the panel slid shut, cutting of Goldstadt’s hideous pleas for aid. Crichton stared for a moment longer, trying to reconcile what he’d seen. Below him, Evaer, glared up from the darkness.

“What the hell just happened?” the Bolian demanded.

“Goldstadt,” Crichton blinked, looking down at him. “He’s… uh… dead.”

“What?!”

“Something was in the tunnel,” Brass said. “They were crawling all over him… digesting him…”

“That’s impossible,” Evaer said. “There’s not supposed to be any indigenous life here.”

“I saw what I saw, Bolian!” Brass said angrily.

“Brass is right,” Crichton said. “Something was in that tunnel. Some kind of goddamn bug or something.”

Evaer shook his head, not understanding. “Bug? What bug?”

“Worm, slug, I don’t know,” Crichton said. “It killed him fast, I’ve never seen anything like it. Just… *melted* him.”

“Slowly,” Brass added. Then, a moment later: “A fitting end for him, all things considered.”

Evaer absorbed this in silence, then shook his head.

“Shit,” the Bolian said. Then, he repeated more forcefully: “Shit!”

“This changes nothing,” Trixie cut in. She sounded annoyed, and frowned as she shifted her gaze between Crichton above her, and Evaer below. “Goldstadt was a fat lump anyway.”

“I’d say it changes something,” Crichton said.

“We still need to find the captain,” Trixie said, glaring up at him, her tone reminded Crichton of that of a petulant teenager. “So we stay out of the maintenance tunnels. Let’s not waste any more time crying for the dead.”


“And *then* what?” Crichton scowled. “We have no idea how many of those things are crawling around this base! You didn’t see what they do up close!”

“So we fumigate the base before we leave,” Trixie shrugged.

Despite everything he’d just seen, Crichton managed a wild bark of laughter. It sounded deranged. “You are a piece of work, lady,” he said.

“She’s right,” Evaer said wearily. “We keep moving. Nothing we can do about Goldstadt now, and no sense in staying put. Unless maybe you want to stay here and keep him company, Crichton?”

Crichton shook his head. “God dammit. You idiots are going to get me killed.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Evaer cautioned, as the surviving crew resumed their downward climb. “Don’t put your hands anywhere you can’t see. I’m not carrying any of you out of here; you fall behind, you’re done.”

“Very inspiring,” Trixie sneered.

Above them, Brass piped up, sounding almost chipper: “I’ve just realized, we have one less person to split the take with!”

=[/\]=

NRPG: One down, four to go. ;-)

Shawn Putnam

a.k.a.

Jake Crichton

Chief Engineering Officer

USS PHOENIX

and

Jake Crichton

Chief Engineering Officer

The Annabelle’s Lament